


A Thousand Lives

by GaryTheFish, TheMoonlightAlchemist



Series: Hope is a Four Letter Word [49]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Jotunheim, Loki - Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 04:57:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 196,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8784028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaryTheFish/pseuds/GaryTheFish, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMoonlightAlchemist/pseuds/TheMoonlightAlchemist
Summary: A year and a half has passed since Loki was brought to Midgard, a year and a half since Odin stripped him of his magic and immortality and banished him to Earth. Much to Odin's dismay, a very damaged Loki has embraced his sentence; defiant as always, he's done everything but throw it back in Odin's face. He's fought and bled for the realm onto which Odin cast him. He's built his own family. He's got a flat in London. He works for one of the most powerful men on Earth. He creates art - books to make the very angels weep, and on top of it all, he's in the midst of planning a wedding to a woman he loves more than anything. But Loki's life was never meant to be one of simplicity. The path that led to his fall from the Bifrost reaches far further than even the All-Father could see, perhaps setting off a chain of events that could lead to disaster. But it is not only Loki's path. Every sin has its reckoning, and more than one is about to come due.(A sequel to The Spaces In Between. If you haven't read that one and the additional one-shots, I would recommend it, as this will likely not make much sense otherwise.)





	1. Chapter 1

_The dying fire bathes the sitting room in a warm, soft glow. Shadows play along the edges of the space and flicker across the figure seated in the massive chair that straddles the blurred, wavering line where flame and darkness meet. He dozes as fitfully as the flames, with an open book balanced on one knee. The fire breathes; a log settles with a sharp crack, and the man comes awake with a hiss of surprise. The room is unfamiliar for a brief moment, and he is halfway out of his chair before he remembers where he is. The heavy tome slides from his leg; he scrambles to keep it from falling but is unsuccessful. He winces at the loud thud that comes when it hits the floor, glancing into the inner chamber in case he has woken her._

_There is no stir of sound, no rustle of fabric; he leaves the book where it is as he stands and peers through the open doorway. The bed is empty, covers smooth and untouched. He remembers, then. A tap on the door. A hushed entreaty, and she had pulled a cloak across her shoulders as she had smoothed a hand along his hair, promising to return as soon as she could. He must have fallen asleep soon after, lulled by the warmth of the fire and the quiet of the sleeping palace._

_He stretches, thinking to lie down on the bed, but something is troubling him. It teases and flits at the back of his mind, and he knows that he will sleep no more this night. Instead, he turns toward the doorway to his chambers, thinking to call a servant._

_It is only when he has flung open the doors that he realizes his mistake. Daylight floods into the room from the hallway, and he squints his eye against the unexpected glare. A strange, dull silence fills the air; he steps into the corridor, senses alight._

_Not a soul greets him, and the further he walks, the deeper the quiet grows. A faint, ugly feeling begins to gnaw in the pit of his stomach. His steps turn of their own will, and by the time he reaches the smoothly carved arches that mark the entrance to the healers’ wing, he is almost running. He slams the doors open, expecting to be hushed, or at least glared at, but there is nothing._

_There is no one. She is nowhere to be seen. Each bed is empty, and they are never,_ never _empty._

_He whirls, mind already leaping ahead. The halls seem to lengthen and darken the closer he gets to the throne room; he quickly realizes that it is not just a trick of vision. The pillars, the floors are daubed in soot and something else. The damage becomes worse as he works his way further in. Shattered stone. Broken statues. Scorch marks along the walls that end in piles of jagged rock and wood._

_The doors to the throne room have been smashed beyond repair; they dangle crazily from their hinges, too heavy to move. He shoves his way through the jagged gap between them and stops dead at the sight of the devastation before him. The room is nearly unrecognizable. His throne lies in shambles, and the wall behind it is almost completely gone. Hazy light pours through the space where it once stood. He stumbles forward in horror, mind and body almost numb, and he does not see the first body until he has tripped over it, catching himself awkwardly on one hand. He realizes then that it is not_ all _piles of kindling or heaps of rubble, and the longer he looks, the worse it gets._

_There is a tiny sound from near the wreckage of the throne, the only thing he has heard since he woke what feels like long years ago, and he looks up wildly. Movement. A silhouette against a blood red sky. He snatches a broken sword from the body at his feet and strides forward toward the slumped figure._

_He does not recognize the boy, not at first. Blond hair muddied with blood and worse. His right hand is missing, arm shattered and useless. Thor holds his mother’s body as close to his chest as he can with the other, forehead pressed to hers. A faint keening passes his lips._

_The sword clatters to the ground, and he falls to his knees beside his son. His eye is drawn past Thor to the ravaged, blasted landscape that lies beyond the shattered palace wall. A no-man’s-land of ash and smoke, and at the very edge, almost at the limit of vision, he sees the roiling, seeping darkness of the army that created it. A shadow blots out the sun for a long, sinuous moment. He stares upward in disbelief, then back at his son._

_“What is it?” he hears himself say._

_Thor lifts his head, and only then does his father see that he is blind, eyes white and empty against the ruin of his face._

_“The end,” Thor tells him. “It is the end.” He begins to laugh, a strange, hopeless sound, and at last, at last, Odin wakes with a jolt, clawing for breath in the peaceful darkness of his own bedchamber._

_***_

_The dream comes again the next night, still startling in its brutality. He sees more on the second viewing, catches more details in the corners of his vision. The way in which the quiet swallows up the dull thud of his book hitting the ground. The way his feet make no sound on the smooth stone floors of the palace, shod though he is in heavy boots. The hammer at his son’s feet, handle splintered and head cracked. The way the blood seeps along the embroidery of Frigga’s bodice, throwing leaves and vines into stark contrast against the ice blue silk of her gown._

_When the dream begins the night after, he is ready. His dream self startles awake, and he wills himself to hurry. There is no need to visit the healers’ wing; it has proven empty the nights before, and there are more vital places to be. If he can but reach the throne room sooner, perhaps he can stop what is coming. Perhaps he will be in time to save his son, and his Queen. The chance is there, and he must take it._

_He turns his feet directly toward the throne room in hopes of staving off what he might find there._

_At least, he tries._

_The dream will not change. His path will not alter, and he is forced to take the same steps, face the same deserted stillness, forced to stumble across the same bodies and the same broken stairs. He watches again as the fanged, winged World Serpent darkens the skies above what used to be the royal gardens. He cannot look away. He cannot block the sound of Thor’s broken, sobbing laughter. It lingers in his ears long after he wakes._

_By the fourth night, he is ready. He calls to Gungnir. Quickens his steps, thinking to take the stairs to the Vault and gather every scrap, every weapon that he can._

_Except nothing changes. He cannot stray from his prescribed steps. He is trapped in his own body, compelled to relive the same sights again and again. His hands are not his own. His feet will not obey, but his mind sees. It sees, and it screams and claws as it tries to yank itself free of the automaton he becomes each time he closes his eyes._

_He does not sleep the next night, wandering libraries, stables and feast halls in an attempt to keep his eye open and mind sharp. It does not matter. The dream still haunts his sight, burned as it is into his brain, and he cannot even look at his own son without the nauseating vision of what will be hovering at the edges of Thor’s face._

_They see that he is troubled. They ask him what is wrong, and he cannot tell them. He cannot warn them against what is coming. He would, but the moment he opens his mouth to speak, he forgets the words. Mere platitudes fall from his lips, pale nothings in the face of the devastation that greets him whenever he closes his eye._

_It is nothing, he says, and he does not lie._

_There will be nothing left. Nothing but ash and dust and shattered bone, and he is helpless to stop it._

_On the sixth night, he does not fight. He does not waste his energy trying to move feet that follow their path without question. He does not call for Gungnir; it would not matter, in any case. The spear lies broken beneath his Queen’s body. He does not think it is what slew her._

_He cannot think it, because the alternative is unfathomable._

_He does not fight. Instead, he screams. He pleads. He begs. He bargains with the empty palace around him; its answering silence is so heavy, so profound that it swallows even the echoes of his cries._

_And this time when he wakes, she is not there._

_To their credit, the Einherjar standing watch do not so much as flinch when the door is wrenched open and the All-Father strides into the hallway._

_“The Queen,” Odin says without preamble. “Where is she?” He fixes the first man with a gimlet stare, trying to shove down the panic scrambling to crawl free._ Not the healers, _he can only think._ Not the healers.

_One straightens fractionally. “In the upper halls, All-Father. The birthing rooms.”_

_The clarity and speed with which he answers brings a faint surprise to Odin’s face. “And how are you so certain of this? Did she tell you?”_

_“There was no need, my lord,” replies the man. “She is with my wife. The baby…” the pause is so slight that Odin nearly misses it. “It has been difficult.”_

_Odin narrows his eye further at the young soldier. “Then what,” he asks after a moment, “are you still doing here?”_

_The guard blinks, then salutes. “Yes, of course. Thank you, All-Father.” He nods to his older companion, and then, not even waiting for further permission, he walks calmly toward the doorway leading toward the main corridor. The stone floors echo, and the moment he is out of sight, it is clear that he breaks into a run._

_The other has been in Odin’s guard for centuries, and he knows his lord well. His eyes are thoughtful beneath the shining gold of his helmet._

_“My liege?” is all he asks, but the words are heavy with meaning, and with questions. Odin merely shakes his head._

_“Ready my horse,” he says instead. “And be quick about it.”_

***

_Odin’s boot heels ring on the stones of the passageway as he approaches the warm, flickering light, so different than the glow that illuminates the rocks around him. The first witch looks up from her loom, eyes narrowing at the sight of the All-Father filling the doorway. She remains silent, and the others look up as well. The raven-haired one speaks first; she stands, but merely bobs her head in greeting._

_“Welcome, son of Bor. Long has it been since you’ve darkened our door. You’ve just missed your wife.”_

_“Oh, not_ just _,” says the blond, idly wrapping thread around her fingers. “I’m almost certain it’s been quite some time since she left.” A beat. “Almost.”_

_An answering shrug from Skuld, though she does not turn around. “Hard to tell these days,” she replies loftily as she surveys Odin with piercing violet eyes. “So what brings you here, Borson? What might the all knowing, all hearing,” and here she breaks off with a smirk and a gesture at the right side of his face, “half… seeing All-Father need from us?”_

_His remaining eye narrows. “I did not come here to be mocked, old woman.”_

_“Not many do,” comes the smooth reply from the white-haired Norn still seated at the loom. “We just think it’s a nice gesture. A little something extra for your trouble; it’s not easy to get here, after all.”_

_He does his best not to grit his teeth, but nothing is lost on these women._

_“Come now,” Urd says, laying her skein gently aside and picking up a new one. “It’s not that we don’t have all day, but I rather think_ you’d _prefer to be nearly anywhere else. State your business, son of Bor, and be done with it.”_

_“You know what is coming. You have seen.” He shoves the uncertainty from his tone. “You must have.”_

_A canny look from Skuld. “Perhaps. The future isn’t certain, All-Father, and occasionally even_ we _are surprised.”_

_“I would know if we will be victorious. If my house will remain standing when all is said and done. I would know if my house will survive what is coming.”_

_“Oh,” Skuld replies; an unreadable expression flashes across her face that Odin might recognize were he not so preoccupied. “So now we’re no more than the All-Father’s fortune tellers?”_

_He closes his eye against her gaze but does not bow his head, as he wishes to; every year, every loss, every century weighs heavily on him in this moment. “Please,” he hears himself say as he opens his eye and meets hers. “I have to know.”_

_A swirl of fabric, and Skuld has turned to a table tucked away in the corner. “Then what shall it be, son of Bor? Entrails? Dice? Bones?” Her fingers lift a cup, smoothly carved with details that bend and shift as he watches. “Runes, then.” She returns to stand in front of him, tall, strong and unchanged in the long ages since they first met. Skuld rattles the runes in their container, shaking them elegantly as the cup’s markings glow with a strange inner fire. The seconds stretch on, and he finds himself glancing toward the smooth, sand covered table where she will cast them. He is surprised when she throws the whole thing against a wall, runes scattering away as the cup bounces off the stones and rolls across the floor, coming to a gentle, almost apologetic stop against his left boot._

_Her eyes have not left his, and her voice is cold in the silence. “I need no runes to see your future, Odin Borson,” she hisses. “It is the same as it would be for any fool who goes to war after throwing half his weapons into a roadside ditch.”_

_Odin stares at her, aware of the two pairs of eyes also watching him from behind the stilled spinning wheel and quiet loom._

_“I do not-” he finally begins._

_“Don’t you.” Verdani’s voice cuts across his, soft and stern, but Odin cannot tear his gaze from Skuld’s to answer her; the brilliant purple irises have him pinned._

_The quiet stretches ever deeper; the Norns’ eyes bore into him, and at last Odin releases a long, tired sigh._

_“Laufey’s son.”_

_“His name, as I remember it,” says Urd from her place, “is Loki. Son of Laufey, yes. Once a son of Odin. Still, perhaps, a son of Frigga. Or have you forgotten already?”_

_“You wish to know if your house will survive?” the black-haired Norn asks gently. “You wish to know your future?” She laughs, kind and harsh. “As it stands now? You have none. You - and your house - will pass into ashes.”_

_“He will not return,” Odin tells her. “I have asked, and he refuses.”_

_“No,” she replies. “You haven’t.”_

_A faint twinge in his gut. She speaks truth, as she knows it, but he is the All-Father. He leads. He rules. He does not make requests. He does not_ beg _._

_“Don’t you.” Skuld’s voice echoes her sister’s, and only then does he realize he has spoken the words aloud. He lifts his head a little higher in defiance and ignores her implication._

_“And if the boy returns?”_

_Verdani’s laugh is high and sweet. “_ Only _the boy?” She passes her hand across her eyes, dusting away tears of mirth. “Oh, son of Bor. You’re a far greater fool than we feared if that’s all you think it’s going to take.”_


	2. Chapter 2

The office door closed behind him with a quiet click, and Loki sagged gratefully into his large, comfortable chair. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he flicked it on. A message to Aeslin, another to Tony, and then he leaned forward, pressing his thumb onto the biometrics pad at the edge of the desk. The polished, translucent surface flared to life; he retrieved the light pen from its recessed holder and went to work jotting notes on the meeting he’d just finished while he waited for Stark to respond.

Only a few minutes had passed before the familiar chime of an incoming call sounded. Loki slid his index finger across the edge of the alert, and a new pane opened toward the edge of the desk. Tony was clearly in his workshop, goggles on his face and a tiny screwdriver in one hand; a prototype gauntlet covered part of the other.

“And how’d it go?” he said cheerfully, not even looking up from his work, and Loki smirked as he continued to scribble observations and ideas.

“So much for easing me back into things,” he answered. “I thought you said this group would be a walk in the park.”

“Ah, but you never asked _which_ park,” came the easy reply. “Big difference between say, your neighborhood duck pond and a nature preserve with an actively exploding volcano, but they’re both _technically_ parks.” He switched tools, picking up a miniature drill and giving the trigger an experimental pull. “I’ve just got to keep you sharp, that’s all.”

“I’m sharp.” Loki tapped the pen against his lower lip thoughtfully, then wrote down another idea. “If a little distracted.”

A quiet chuckle. “Can’t imagine why. What are you still doing at work, anyways?”

“Just finishing up some notes. I’m thinking of a few things we can shift; take one or two off the table that I don’t think much matter and add a couple more. I’ll have Jarvis send them along so you or Pepper can vet them before we reconvene tomorrow morning.”

“Probably no need,” Stark replied, studying his gauntlet and then making a minute adjustment. “All joking aside, you know what you’re doing. We trust you to make the right call. _Most_ of the time.” He shoved his goggles up and onto his forehead; the slight twitch at the edge of his lips belied the stern look on the rest of his face.

Loki glanced up with a faint grin. “And how _did_ your display at the STEM exhibition go?”

“As per usual,” Tony replied loftily. “Swoop in, do a few laps, blast some AC/DC, land in that superhero-hand-out-crouch-thing we all seem to do when we want to look impressive, flip up the visor and soak in the love. Except _one_ of those things,” he went on, eyebrow going up as he faced the camera fully, “didn’t happen.”

The grin widened as Loki lowered his head to his work again. “You don’t say.”

“I do, as a matter of fact. Weird Al, man? Really? And did it _have_ to be one of the polkas?”

“Well, you do come in like a wrecking ball, but funny how you assume _I’m_ the one who chose the song,” Loki observed as he made a few final notations in the margin of the contract he’d loaded onto the light table. “I hadn’t even heard of the man before a couple of months ago. Granted, now that I can’t _un_ hear him, I feel that I’m under a moral obligation to make sure everyone around me is awarded the same opportunity, but you really shouldn’t ass _ume_ these sorts of things anymore. I’m not the only one who likes to pester you, and there are others who have been doing it for _far_ longer.”

“Can’t blame me if I turn to the god of mischief first,” the other admitted with a laugh, “but listen to you. Engaged for less than a month, and you’re already throwing blame onto the future Mrs. Laufeyson. Congratulations again, by the way.”

A smirk. “Thank you,” Loki said, “and I’m doing nothing of the sort. I’ll take full responsibility for what happened, just as soon as Rhodes comes through with the video evidence he promised _and_ Parker transfers the fifty quid he now owes me. All she did was leave a list on the counter; she can’t be blamed if I chose to use it for nefarious purposes.”

“A full conspiracy,” Tony sighed as he replaced his goggles, “ _plus_ plausible deniability for the one person I’m guessing was the _actual_ instigator. I should have known.” He glanced over as though he could see what was on Loki’s table. “You about done there? Pepper or I will take a look at it, have it back to you by morning. You should probably be on your way, because if we’re fighting with song lyrics, otherwise she’ll be up all night to get L-”

“You’ll want to make sure this is the best time,” Loki broke in smoothly as he signed off on the whole mess and sent it on to Stark, “because you’re only going to get to say that once.”

Tony snorted. “Not even once to each of you?” He grinned at Loki’s silence; he didn’t even have to look up from the gauntlet to know exactly which look he was getting. “Give her my love,” Stark said instead. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

***

Aeslin was the first to return home. Shifting her bag of groceries from one arm to the other, she unlocked the door; as it closed behind her, she dropped her keys into the bowl on the bookshelf. She made her way to the kitchen, setting the groceries on the table and gratefully slipping her messenger bag over her head; she let it fall none-too-gently to the floor. Plucking her gloves from her hands as she went back into the living room, she tucked them into her pockets, then shed her jacket and hung it in the closet. After a moment’s thought, she went back into the kitchen without taking off her boots. They were clean enough, and she wasn’t in the mood for the sort of commitment it would take to get them off again. Instead, she went to the slow cooker on the counter, lifting the lid and poking experimentally at the stew within.

It needed a bit of thickening; she set about getting what she needed, allowing her hands to linger above the steaming pot to warm them. Evening had fallen on her way home, deepening the February chill, and it would be a little while before she was comfortable again.

She had almost finished her work on the stew when she heard the front door open, and she smiled a little, her eyes flicking automatically to the ring spiraling around the third finger of her left hand. She heard the closet door open and close, and then he strolled into the kitchen in stocking feet, dropping his bag next to hers as he approached. He slipped an arm around her waist from behind, planting cold lips firmly where her neck and shoulder met. Her attempt to pull away was halfhearted at best; he merely tightened his hold on her, pinning her arm against her side as he nuzzled more firmly.

“Damn you,” she sighed, voice resigned as she rested her spoon on the edge of the pot. She lifted her free hand, cradling his head and running her fingers through the hair he’d ruthlessly straightened that morning in preparation for his meetings. “I was just getting warm.”

He laughed lightly against her skin, his soft breath below her ear doing absolutely nothing to help the goosebumps marching down her arms. “And you will be again,” he promised, wrapping his other arm around her and effectively trapping her against the counter. “Just give it a moment. Besides, you smell nice.”

An answering chuckle. “Aren’t you in a good mood,” she said, tipping her head to one side to give him better access to her throat. “Did you land the contract?”

He ruined any mood either was trying to set by blowing a sudden, gentle raspberry on her neck. “I wish,” he sighed as he pulled away, leaving her with one final nip on the pale skin near her neckline. “I’ll be back at it bright and early tomorrow, and hopefully we’ll get it hammered out before the weekend.” He shed his suit coat, draping it over the back of a dining room chair before attacking his tie. He pulled it off with a sort of relief, then went for his top two buttons, giving her a wink when he caught her looking. She grinned in reply and went back to putting the final touches on the evening’s meal.

“And of course I’m in a good mood,” he went on. “I came home to you, _and_ I have it on _very_ good authority that the STEM prank went off without a hitch.” He rolled up his sleeves as he came back toward the stove. “You know, he thinks it was your idea?”

“Well, it’s not as though he doesn’t have a precedent for thinking that way,” she replied with a thoughtful grin. “I mean, it’s a rather _small_ precedent, but significant, I suppose. It was quite a while ago; I’m surprised he remembers.”

“I’m not, and one day I’m going to get that story out of you.”

“One day,” she agreed. “Just not today. Would you mind cutting up one of those loaves? This is ready; it just has to cool a little.”

He grabbed a knife and cutting board and headed back to the table; she spoke over the rustle of paper as he dug through the bag. “Oh, and I also got you a pres-” A small, distinct popping noise broke across her words, and she glanced over her shoulder to see him standing with a newly-opened jar of lemon curd and a slightly embarrassed grin on his face. “Ah. I see you found it.”

“Louder than I thought it would be,” he admitted with a smirk as he casually slipped over to pull a spoon from the drawer at her hip. He leaned down for a proper kiss before turning back to the loaf of bread on the table, already dipping into the jar. “It’s been ages. Thanks, love.”

“You’re welcome.”

He saluted her with the spoon, mouth already full, and then turned back to his loaf of bread. She brought over bowls and spoons to the table; he smiled, put the lid back on his treat and tucked it into the fridge, then returned with drinks. Brushing his lips across her knuckles, he pulled out her chair, then sat across from her.

“How did the workshop go?” he asked.

“I think it went well. No obvious nappers. Three hours is an awfully long time if you’re not the one teaching, even if there are breaks. It’s not enough time when you’re _doing_ the teaching, that’s for sure. I just hope I strike a good balance.”

“I’d tell you, if I could,” he replied, “but I think the class is too small to sneak into. You’d see me in a heartbeat.”

She laughed as she tried some stew. “True, but now that I’m thinking about it, having you in there might not be a bad idea. I mean, if you’re still planning to come along, then I’m planning to put you to work. You could get some training. Background. Correct me when I give false information about Viking holidays and worship practices. Can’t get much better than first hand experience, right?”

“You act like I remember them.”

A thoughtful look crossed her face. “I guess I just assumed you did. You said that Odin sealed the portals after the war, but then you also said that you remember places like Faroe and Glastonbury.”

“Sealed was probably the wrong word,” he allowed. “He closed them to two-way travel, but we - _he_ didn’t immediately sever the ties that held our worlds together. He just sort of… phased himself out, I suppose you could say. He brought us along a few times to collect tribute or celebrate a harvest, but I was little more than a child when he stopped completely and let the legends take over instead.”

“So why wouldn’t you remember?”

He shrugged. “It’s the details that are muddy; the festivities were overwhelming at times. Fires, dances, mock battles and some fights that weren’t a pretense. I’ve never met a people who lived like they did. I was young. I was enthralled by the lights and sounds, and on more than one occasion, I was completely and utterly plastered.”

She made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough, putting her drink firmly down on the table and reaching for a napkin. “Jerk.”

“Besides,” he went on as though nothing had happened, “I don’t know that my being there would be helpful, especially once your class discovered we’re engaged. It’s too much room for distraction, and you’ve worked hard enough for this as it is.” He twined his fingers lightly with hers; the black metal of his ring gleamed in the light as he sighed theatrically. “I’ll just have to settle for private tutoring.”

“I’ll bet that breaks your heart.”

“ _Shattered_ ,” he replied with a devilish grin, “and what’s this ‘planning to’? Do you honestly think there’s any way in _hell_ I’m missing the chance to see a brilliant, gorgeous woman in her natural habitat? Hardly. I’ve already warned Stark that as far as work is concerned, I’m going off the radar from mid-April through the first half of June, except in emergencies.”

“Which one of you decides if it’s an emergency?”

A laugh as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “That’s still on the table.”

“And your books?”

“No reason I can’t work on my design portfolio in the evenings. I’ve got it all figured out; there’s absolutely nothing to worry about.” She snorted indelicately, and he grinned as he gathered their dishes, then stood and headed for the sink.

“Absolutely nothing to worry about as far as _that’s_ concerned,” he amended as he rinsed bowls and stacked them in the sink for later. They were silent for a moment or two as he rapidly cleaned up the meal and she finally began working on her shoelaces. At last, she kicked her boots off with a sigh, then padded over and dropped them on the rug near the front door. He intercepted her on the way back to the kitchen, taking her hand and leading her toward the living room. He guided her firmly down onto one of the cushions, perching on the arm of the couch and sliding his hands along her shoulders.

“So now that problem’s solved, let’s figure out another. What about this one?” Loki shifted his fingers along her back, unerringly finding a tight spot; a brief press brought a hiss, and he tsked gently as he moved on. “Or this one.” She bit her lip, but he seemed to know exactly which areas were the worst, as always, and when he unceremoniously rammed a knuckle into the massive knot hidden beneath her tattoo, she let out a small yelp.

“Ah,” he said, voice soothing. “ _There’s_ the one we need to talk about.” He ran his hands down her arms, tugging at her cardigan as he went. “Off with this, then.”

Aeslin complied, slipping her arms free of the sweater. Loki trailed his fingers expertly across the shirt beneath and along her back. “Not a great angle,” he observed, “but I’ll do my best, unless you’d like to try the floor.”

Admitting defeat, she shrugged. “May as well go all in.”

He bent to press a kiss to the back of her neck, then pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and arranged it on the rug in the center of the room. Straddling her hips, he smoothed strong hands firmly down her back, working his way toward the spot between her shoulder blades.

“So,” he began after a moment. “Has it got a name?”

Her embarrassed laugh was slightly muffled by the blanket beneath her cheek. “Planning a wedding.”

She could almost hear him grin as he gently massaged along her spine. “Thought that might be it. From the size of this knot, though, it seems to me you’ve got this idea that you’re going to have to plan it all by yourself.” His voice held a touch of reproach as he kneaded the slowly-loosening muscles, pausing on a particular sore spot. “And apparently all in one day.” He leaned in, putting more weight behind his hands. “Gods, little one. This is _magnificent._ ”

“Thanks?” she managed, and he laughed a little.

“It doesn't all have to be finished in a single afternoon, love,” he said, relaxing the pressure a bit. “Besides, haven't you done this once before?”

“Mmhmm,” she said, “but since he walked out on me three months before the wedding day, I’d rather not go by previous experience, if it's all the same to you.” She shifted slightly, and he grazed his fingers along her neck in response. “I could say the same for you, though. Weren't you promised once, too?”

“For approximately ten minutes,” he agreed, “but even if it had lasted longer, I was the prince in a royal union. I had three jobs. Smile, show up, and keep my mouth shut, especially in regard to the important things such as, you know, the actual _wedding_ bit.”

“Guess we're starting from scratch, then.”

His hands slowed a little, becoming more soothing. “You say that like it's a bad thing. We’ve been through worse. I promise.”

Aeslin hummed lightly but didn't respond; she let her eyes close instead as he went on.

“One thing,” he said. “That's all we need to start. One simple thing.” He scooted further toward her feet, working his hands lower along her back. “What's one thing we can decide today?”

She thought for a moment. “We can pick a day. I mean, not a specific date, but maybe a time frame.”

“An excellent plan,” he replied. “How’s your Thursday looking?”

A laugh escaped her just as his fingers found another sore spot; the resulting sound was somewhat less than dignified. “You want to elope?” she finally managed.

He made a thoughtful noise as he stroked his fingers along her spine. “Maybe? How do you feel, by the way?”

“Much better.”

With a final kiss to the back of her neck, he rolled off her hips, stretching out next to her on the blanket. She shifted to face him; he smiled, then lay on his back, one hand behind his head and the other beckoning to her. Aeslin took the hint, pulling herself on top of him with her head on his chest and her knees along his sides. He gently teased his fingers through her hair and along her back as he spoke.

“I mean, it holds a certain appeal,” he said, words a hum in her ear. “Do you know how long Odin and Friggas’ wedding preparations took?”

She shook her head, his shirt rustling against her cheek.

“One hundred and thirty-seven years,” he answered. “That’s not including the engagement tour, or the ceremony, or anything. That’s _just_ planning the wedding. Whole forests were born and died in the amount of time it took them to get around to anything, and before you tell me I’m making this up, the whole mess is lovingly chronicled in eight different sagas. There’s something to be said for just getting things _done_.”

“True, but there’s the matter of the small but elite group of superheroes who would murder us if we got married without them, and _that’s_ only if there were anything left once Parker was finished.”

“A compromise, then.”

Aeslin thoughtfully twined her hand with his, sliding her fingers between his knuckles and feeling the warm metal of his ring against her skin. “There’s a gap after the field season is over,” she mused. “We could sneak it in before school starts again in the fall. Do you think we could pull it off by July?”

His laugh was a low buzz against her jaw. “I think we can manage it, and if we can’t, well. I’m sure the others will be more than willing to help out, whether we want them to or not. Might as well ask them now and get it over with.”

“But what about-”

Loki brought their joined hands firmly to his lips, and she went quiet. “One thing, love. You’ve done enough for tonight; don’t ruin all my hard work.”

She didn’t respond, and after a moment, Loki shifted in the deepening silence. He pulled his hand from behind his head, wrapping his arm around her to cradle her closer. “Aeslin?” His voice was soft but curious. She burrowed a little further into his shirt, her fingers tightening in his as she finally said the words that had been teasing at the edges of her mind for days.

“He was supposed to be there.”

She didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t have to ask. Phil. The unspoken name lingered in the warmth of the living room for a moment, and he tightened his hold on her, pressing his lips against her hair.

“I know, _àstin._ I know.”

***

Aeslin padded down the hallway, tugging the warm grey hoodie closer around her. Fumbling for her phone in the dim light seeping through the window blinds, she tucked her headset into one ear, then flicked through her contacts and dialed.

Parker answered; she dimly heard the clatter of pots and pans beneath his greeting.

“Am I interrupting anything?” she asked.

“Never,” he replied. “Just give me a second to make sure nothing catches fire. Not that anyone around here would notice, but I figure it’s only polite to keep the communal kitchen in one piece. Tony wasn’t kidding when he called these the squid tanks. It’s like the dorms on steroids.” There was a shuffling noise as he switched the phone to the other shoulder. “Actually, hold on. Let me find my buds.”

She waited a few seconds until there was a slight clicking noise. The ruckus in the background dimmed a little, and Parker’s voice came through more clearly. “Pardon my noodles,” he said, “but I’m kind of starving. I haven’t been home all day.” He paused. “What time is it there, anyways? Three? Four? You’re up late. Early?”

“Both, I guess,” she answered.

He chuckled. “Video’s not a good idea then, I’m guessing,” he observed, and she laughed, automatically glancing down at what passed for pajamas these days.

“Probably not.”

A muffled thumping sound, followed by the clink of silverware on china; she could perfectly envision the biologist sprawled on the couch with his bowl, just as he had been so many times in her home in Malibu. “So what’s up, buttercup?” he asked. “Everything okay?”

“I’ve got a favor to ask you.” She curled a little tighter on the couch cushion, pulling the blanket around her against the early morning chill from the windows.

“Shoot.”

“How’s your July looking? Any plans yet?”

“None yet,” came the reply. “I’m pretty open. Why? You have a wacky adventure in mind?”

“Just a wedding. I’d like you to be my best man. Bridesman? Man of honor. Damn it; they all sound pretty horrible, but you know what I mean, right?”

“Sorry,” said Parker. “I think there’s- Can you hold on just a second?”

“Sure,” she replied and then pretended not to hear the soft noise of Parker taking out his headphones and stuffing them under a pillow, or the faint, overjoyed screaming that followed. When he came back on, his voice was raw and a little breathless.

“I thought there was someone at the-” he began, but then he started laughing a little helplessly. “Oh, hell, who am I kidding? Really? Honest and for true?”

“Honest and for true,” Aeslin confirmed. She blinked, a sudden thought popping into her head. “He hasn't already asked you, has he?”

Another laugh. “Nope, but it wouldn’t matter. When it all comes down to it, I’ve liked you better, and for way longer. There’s no _real_ contest.” There was a faint sniffle. “Really?”

“Really really.”

“I mean,” he went on, “it kind of defeats the whole traditional purpose of the bridesmaid.”

“Parker. It’s _us_. A superhuman who’s marrying an ex-god in a ceremony that will more than likely be officiated by the goddess of love and marriage herself, who just so _happens_ to be my future adoptive mother-in-law. I think we threw tradition out the window _quite_ some time ago.”

“And good riddance.”

“Agreed. So, are you in?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, nearly giddy. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’m honored, Aeslin. Truly I am.”

“So am I.” A quiet smile lit her face.

“Have you picked colors yet? I don’t think I own a tux.”

She gave an exhausted giggle, remembering the conversation she and Loki had had earlier in the evening. “One thing at a time,” she said. “We’ve barely got the season narrowed down. You were Step Two.” She paused as another thought struck her. “How good are you at wedding planning? We could use some pointers.”

“Terrible,” he admitted, “but don’t worry. We got people. I’ll make some calls.”

“You’re awesome.”

“So you tell me.”

“Now to the real question,” she went on, voice brightening a little. “How did the STEM entrance _really_ go?”

“Amazing. _Amazing_. You’ve never seen a happier group of nerds, and I’m including myself. It was one of the best receptions to an entrance he’s had in quite a while; if he tells you any different, he’s lying through his perfect teeth. Ten bucks says he keeps it in the suit’s playlist.”

A laugh. “You’re on.”

“Oh!” Parker added suddenly. “I got a new project last week; did I tell you? My first cross-discipline assignment.” He gave a sudden laugh. “First _official_ one, I guess, not counting the hot mess that Banner threw all of us into on the helicarrier. You’ll never guess who I’m working with.”

“Anyone I know?”

She could almost hear his grin through the phone. “Doctor Selvig.”

Aeslin’s thoughts flashed back to the Warehouse and to the memory of Parker with his head in his arms, bemoaning the unfairness of being passed over for an assignment. She smiled.

“See?” she couldn’t help but say. “I told you that you’d get your chance eventually.”

Parker blew a raspberry; the effect was somewhat lost through the phone. “Shush, you,” he replied, but she could hear how pleased he was at the development. “He asked me personally, which was a _huge_ honor in itself. Don’t know if he ever told you, but he’s been freelancing. Tony’s been funding him since sometime after that conference last April. I think he and Doctor Foster might have parted ways, and that’s why he needs me, but that bit’s just a rumor. I might ask him about it if I ever get the guts.”

“What’s the project?”

“I’m not entirely sure; he’s been pretty cagey about the whole thing. I won’t get the details until my passport comes through and I can meet up with him wherever he is by that point. All I know is that he’s got something he’s been chasing all over the planet, and I don’t even think _he’s_ exactly clear on what it is yet. But don’t worry. I won’t let it interfere with wedding plans. You’re my absolute priority. My sister from another mister, and family comes first. You know that, right?”

“I do.”

There was a quiet sound from the hall, and she glanced up to see Loki standing blearily in the doorway, his face curious in the soft light from the windows.

“Parker,” she mouthed in answer; he nodded. She watched him cross toward the kitchen, a wraith in black silk boxers. His drink finished, he headed back to bed, giving her a wave and a sleepy smile as he passed, and she grinned.

“Still there?” Parker asked.

“Yes. Loki says hello.”

“Oops,” came the reply. “Did we wake him?”

“Probably,” she admitted, “but he’ll be out again in no time. He just… he gets worried.” Aeslin flipped her phone briefly toward her face to check the time. “And since I’ve got to be up again entirely too soon, I should probably join him.”

“Good plan. You get some sleep; I’ll make some calls, see if I can find you a wedding planner. That’s part of my job as bridesman, right?”

“Absolutely,” she smiled. “I appreciate it more than you know; I get the feeling this year’s going to be wild. And keep me posted on Selvig’s project, too. I’m curious.”

“Yeah,” said Parker. “Me, too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The song they're referencing at the beginning is "NOW That's What I Call Polka!" from "Weird" Al's _Mandatory Fun_ album.)
> 
> àstin: Icelandic term for darling, love or sweetheart, usually used when the one being addressed is sad or in distress.


	3. Chapter 3

_She is at the observatory, at a watchrift lens. So much of her job these days is sorting through watch reports, writing briefings, assigning watchers, identifying new rifts. She hasn’t sat a watch shift in a long time, and she finds that she has missed it._

_She wouldn’t normally be here on this night, but Laufey has given her this task personally, and one does not refuse an assignment from the king. From her time as his Lieutenant, he knows her to be observant, level-headed, and trustworthy. She is not about to break that trust now, and so she watches alone, doors locked, lens barely bright enough to see through the tiniest of rifts._

_Blodgada is the only one in all of Jotunheim to watch Laufey go to slay the Asgardian king._

_She is the only one to see Laufey’s murder._

_She carefully dismantles the lens and turns the mechanism away from its target, unwilling to risk someone coming after and seeing where the rift leads. Her hands shake as she slips the lens into its protective case. Once everything is tucked safely away, she calmly turns toward the entrance to the tall, cold room in which she has been perched for the last few hours._

_By the time she reaches the door, she is sprinting._

_Ignoring the questions called to her as she races through the observatory, she clatters down stairs and bolts past other watchers on the way to the riftgate. She doesn’t need to check the charts. Rift 55 will take her to Redrock Cave, then three thousand steps up to Thorn Peak, where Rift 17 connects to the Capitol. She could speak through a messagerift more quickly, but this news is not for just anyone to hear, at least not yet. Byleistr must be first to know that he is king. He must be the first to know what has become of his father._

_Her hands move across the controls without conscious thought. These switches, these cranks, and she hears the gears groaning as the gate swivels into place. With a final pull of a lever the rift opens, only blackness beyond. She leaps through, falling fifteen feet to the ground, rolling, and coming back onto her feet, already racing toward the cave mouth. Her feet pound the stony path up to the peak. Rift 17 will be open; it is one of the few that always is._

_She never makes it. The earth heaves, throwing her off the path. She slides on her shoulder, grabbing at stones to keep from going over the edge. Bracing herself, she waits for the tremors to fade, but they don’t stop. They grow stronger, joined by a strange light in the sky. Fighting against the shaking earth, Blodgada pulls herself back onto the path. She scrambles toward the peak, using hands as much as feet. At last she reaches the top, but her ability to move, to even breathe flees before the scene in front of her._

_A beam of searing light, straight as a spear and shimmering with color, reaches from the sky to the earth, a boiling cloud of dust making it impossible to see where it touches down. All around it the ground heaves like ripples in a pond, each successive wave reaching further than the one before. Mountains that have stood for eons shudder, then crack, collapsing as wave after wave slams across the earth. The edge of the destruction nears, and Blodgada knows that the ground she is standing on will fall from beneath her feet. It doesn’t matter. The dust cloud under the beam has begun to reflect another light, the red, angry glow of burning stone. The world itself is breaking._

_And then the light is gone. She looks up to the sky, but her vision is streaked with afterimages, and by the time they fade there is nothing to see of where it went, where it came from, what it meant. The shaking takes longer to fade, and the aftershocks will go on for years. The dust too will linger, dimming the already cold sun, killing with famine many of those who survive the quakes. But that is all in the future, and in this moment Blodgada cannot see past the darkness, cannot hear past the thundering, cannot think past the destruction. She can only feel the trembling beneath her knees, the dust in her throat, the cold tears on her face, and she believes there will never be anything else to feel._

_***_

Blodgada twisted a knob on the apparatus in front of her. The lens at the top of the theodolite shifted, the movement too small to see. She could hear that she was getting closer, though; the tones flowing from the wires were nearly matched, the oscillations fading. No, growing again.

She blinked against the sudden realization that the sounds weren’t from her apparatus at all. Cursing under her breath, she braced herself between the tripod and the rocky ground.

The aftershock was short but sharp, knocking one of the tripod’s legs off the rock on which it balanced. The construct was taller than she and much heavier, but she managed to keep it from falling to the ground. Lenses were very hard to come by these days, and she could not afford to break another. She heaved it upright and managed to balance it again, then realized the lens was pointing at the wrong part of the sky completely. The frost giant closed her eyes, rubbed the raised markings on her forehead and cursed quietly again. A laugh escaped her as she glanced at the surrounding wasteland. She could curse as loudly as she wanted. There was no one to hear.

The lens was thankfully undamaged, so Blodgada set about calibrating it once more. The apparatus she'd built from a surveyor's theodolite was heavy, clunky, and imprecise, but it was the best she, or anyone, could do. The wires began to vibrate, and she carefully twisted dials in response. This would be so much easier if the observatory was still standing.

She smiled grimly. If the observatory was still standing, none of this would be necessary.

The Traitor’s Waste, it was called now. The Destruction. Where once stood mountains, now there were vast fields of boulders. Flat land had been blasted to bare rock, cut by fissures too wide to bridge and lit from below with dull red light. She had not been the only one to see it; there were older, wiser giants than she, and they had known it for what it was. _Bifrost_ , they told Byleistr, who was too young to fully remember the last war with Asgard. Their eyes were full of anger and a strange, remembered sorrow. _Harbinger of the All-Father._ Sages and warriors had stood ready, staring at the sky for days as they’d waited for the attack that would surely follow. They had waited in vain. The cold, starry vault above had remained silent, darkened by the ash that still billowed from the rents in the earth. Odin had never come.

No one had.

The observatory itself had been far from the epicenter; it lay a few days’ travel from the edge of the Waste. Still too close. The domes and towers were now only heaps of shattered stone and glass. Rubble that she had sifted through for countless days as part of the recovery effort. Finding all the bodies had taken weeks; some were still missing, and most in the land nearest the ruins now looked upon the observatory as haunted. Cursed. Blodgada was inclined to agree with them, but that hadn’t stopped her from returning. Hadn’t kept her from searching through the destruction for maps, for lenses, for bits and pieces of the massive machines that had once been its lifeblood. Trying very hard not to see the stains on the stone.

Blodgada had found charts as well, some even in one piece, but she’d ended up discarding them one by one. They were useless; the Destruction had seen to that. She hadn’t been sure, not at first. She had thought that she couldn’t find the rifts because the terrain had changed. A hill had collapsed too low for her to reach one rift, or there was now a crevasse where the another opened out. Over time, she had come to realize that the rifts themselves had changed. Some had moved; many had vanished all together, but more had been created. There were many times the number of rifts than there had been before. More, perhaps, to compensate for the huge swaths of land that were just _gone,_ empty void stretching for what seemed like miles.

She had been out for weeks this time, with only a makeshift theodolite, a lens, and a pack animal for company. Helblindi had mocked her idea of making new charts, but, as always, Byleistr had been more thoughtful when she suggested how important it was to re-establish the rifts. Not only could they make contact with parts of Jotunheim cut off by the Destruction, but they also needed a way to know what was going on in other realms. The observatory was gone, and Jotunheim was blind. He’d agreed, and Blodgada had set off toward the Wastes.

It had been months before they’d been able to establish any watchrifts, and almost a full span had passed before the first primitive messagerifts were up and running once more. Blodgada had been fortunate to find a rift cluster less than a day’s ride outside the city walls. It was only a fraction the size that the observatory’s cluster had been, but the interaction between rifts was just enough. With salvaged machinery from the observatory installed toward the center of the cluster, the Jotuns would be able to use the interaction to push and pull rift endpoints, allowing them a tiny bit of control over what they could see and hear. Without accurate charts, however, the watchers could only see wherever that rift led. So Blodgada had set out with her theodolite and sextant, sending rift locations back to the fledgling observatory, expanding the communications piece by piece. Even now, the place was barely more than a listening post, small and unstable as the rift network was, but it suited their purpose, and Blodgada was finding more rifts every time she went looking. Others had begun to search as well, but none had had her success. _Witch_ , a few of them called her, with varying degrees of respect, and she would merely smile with teeth bared. She had been called far worse in her time.

A set of matching tones brought her from her reverie. Another rift. She carefully bent to the eyepiece, but could see nothing. Not Jotunheim then. She rummaged through a pack and came up with a rigid case. Opening it, she pulled out a golden crystal. She fitted the filter crystal onto the eyepiece, realigned the lens, and looked again. Nothing. Not Asgard either. She used one crystal after another. Not Vanaheim. Not Muspelheim. At last only the green crystal remained. She slotted it in and could see the light through the eyepiece before she even bent down. Midgard.

Again.

She walked thoughtfully to the pack animal, pulling the long case off its back and unrolling the map of Midgard. It took over an hour to attach the parchment to the frame, realign the lens, and focus the prism. It was just a formality. She already had a very good idea where the light would fall. It would be near that cluster of islands, northwest of the biggest continent. Several rifts she had found in the past weeks led roughly the same place. Some had been only transient gaps between the realms, gone almost before she had been able to finally pinpoint them. She mentally sent up a plea for good fortune, that this one might be stable.

Blodgada detached the map frame and set up her final instrument. She cranked the spring, then set the pendulum swinging and watched the gauge rise. And rise. It was well beyond the size only useful for watching, had passed through the message range, and was well into the size that allowed for travel. She watched the gauge until the needle hit the end with a tiny clicking sound. She didn’t have an exact size to note in her records, but at this point it didn’t really matter. This gate was massive, and from the look of things, it was solid.

Carefully, Blodgada packed up her instruments. There was no hurry to her actions, but her mind was carefully sifting information. The nearest messagerift to the capitol was a three day journey to the west, but if she went four days south, she could go through the rift that hung within a glacier’s mouth. Half a day’s journey, and then another, albeit smaller rift would allow her travel almost directly to the capitol. She tightened the straps holding the tripod onto the pack beast’s back. South it was, then. Byleistr would be very interested to know about this, and he would be sure to have questions.

***

By the time she reached the capitol, Blodgada was frustrated and irritable. A sudden quake had blocked most of the entrance to the glacial cave, and she’d had to waste the better part of a day trying to winnow a spot large enough to get herself and her pack animal through. As a result, she was filthy, exhausted, and in no mood to so much as greet those who skittered out of her way, or bowed as she passed. Still, there was no escaping her station, and she pasted an almost-friendly smile on her face as she wove her way through the streets and toward the palace grounds.

Blodgada handed the reins to the groom waiting in the nearly-empty stables; he stood patiently, making idle soothing sounds at the restless creature while Blodgada carefully unloaded her map case. After a moment’s thought, she also took the rigid case that held her lens and crystals. She gave instructions to the groom to have the rest of her things unpacked and sent to her chambers immediately. He nodded, familiar with her frequent trips to and from the Waste, and began his work before she had even made it completely out the door once more.

She ducked briefly into a tack room, breathing a faint sigh of relief at the sight of steam rising from the basin in the corner. The water was warm, brought from beneath the surface through a network of pipes that had survived the devastation largely unscathed. Blodgada rapidly scrubbed her hands and face, getting off the worst of the dust and grime from her travels. She brushed her hands along her hair and clothes, then picked up her cases again, striding across the courtyard and into the tall stone edifice Byleistr called home.

A brief stop for information, and then Blodgada was winding her way through the hallways of the palace. The aftershocks were barely noticeable here; one rippled lazily through as she approached the heavy wooden door to Byleistr’s smallest council chamber. She merely shifted her weight in a practiced motion, never once breaking stride.

“Blodgada,” said Byleistr, rising as she entered the chamber. “Welcome back. I thought I saw you come in.”

She nodded; it was no surprise that he’d noticed. In a bluish-gray castle full of greyish-blue people, her long red hair did attract attention. It was rare for a woman of her class to have hair, and the color was even more uncommon. Most Jotun had never seen such a shade; there were usually only a handful with the strange, blood-red hair born in a generation, and even fewer who kept it.

Most of the Jotun warrior caste shaved their heads as a symbol of strength in battle, but she had refused. It set her apart. It gave others pause, both in peace and on the battlefield. They kept their distance, and that was fine with her. It had been difficult growing up; the mocking had been endless at times, but she had learned to let it pass. To let her actions speak for themselves.

There were fewer comments now, and very few were made in earshot. The court had learned, and more than a few had received their lesson the hard way.

Byleistr gestured for her to approach as he sat back down on his heavy, ornately-carved chair, pulling a large sheet of parchment toward himself. His voice was distracted as he studied the page.

“You have news?”

She had recognized a few words on the document Byleistr was studying, so she decided to use that as her starting point. Blodgada gently leaned her map case against the edge of the table; Byleistr glanced over at it but said nothing. “I found a shorter path between the Gylfir plain and the Ormr peninsula,” she told him, pulling the strap of the lens case over her head and placing it carefully on the polished stone surface. “They’d have to travel through more rifts, which carries some risk, but it will save a significant amount of time.”

“How significant?”

“My estimate is at least three days. More if the weather holds.”

He lifted his head at that, a knowing look on his face. “ _Just_ the weather?”

She shrugged, having no good answer and knowing that he wasn’t expecting one.

“Three days is an improvement,” Byleistr went on, dropping the document on top of a pile of parchment already on the table. “But it doesn’t matter how fast we can get the caravans through if there’s no food to transport.” Blodgada cocked a questioning eyebrow, and he nodded toward the parchment. “It's a report from the growers’ collective down in Gylfir. Now that the growing season is progressing, they have a better idea of crop yield and have revised their estimate. Downward. To one fourth.”

“Gods,” she murmured as she picked up the report, her eye catching on a number that was far too small. “That’s not enough. Will that even feed the growers?”

“With care and rationing” he said, taking the document back and tossing it with the others. “It’s possible. They won’t be able to export, though. There will be riots in the cities long before winter.” He rested his elbows on the heaps of reports, chin on one hand as he gave her a long, level look. “Crop estimates aren’t why you came back weeks before we expected you. Tell me what you’ve found.”

“A few things.” She released the catches on her satchel and began pulling out maps. Byleistr shoved several piles of documents to the edge of his desk, allowing her space to spread out the tightly rolled parchments. “A path to Geirvor; the pass is completely gone, but there’s a way around it. I’ve marked it here.” Blodgada unrolled the next map, pointing out relevant markings. “A messagerift to Eyrr that's only a few thousand steps from one to Borgardalr. The ground seemed stable. I think it would be a good place to set up a relay. I finally found a watchrift to Halsgrof.” She paused for a moment. “There was nothing to see.”

“Is there anything we can recover? Repurpose? I can send-”

“No, Byleistr.” Her voice was quiet. “There was _nothing_.”

A heavy silence fell; the king pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a faint sigh.

“Understood,” he said grimly; he rubbed gently at the pattern of ridges on his forehead that he’d inherited from his mother, then leaned forward, eyes curious. “But these are things that could have waited, cousin.”

“Yes.” Blodgada found the correct maps and shook them free of the others in the satchel. “But this couldn't.”

A sudden clatter came from the hallway; the door to the council chamber was unceremoniously shoved open, and Helblindi entered. The crown prince nodded almost respectfully to his brother as he strode into the room. As he came closer, he reached out, fingers automatically flicking forward to tweak one of the knotted braids that framed Blodgada’s face. He grinned as she smacked his hand away, her movement almost too fast to see.

“I thought I smelled hair,” he said, surveying his stinging fingers. “Seems you still haven’t mastered the basics of civilization, in more ways than one.” He shook his hand with a stern look. “Hel’s breath, I think you broke them again.” Sauntering across the room out of reach, he dropped onto a bench scattered with cushions and stretched his legs along the seat. Blodgada stifled a sigh. _Most_ comments had died out after the first few centuries, but if anything, Helblindi had upped his game through the long years they’d known each other.

“Hello, brother,” said Byleistr as he shot stern looks at both of them. “I’m glad you've finally come to catch up on these reports.” He gathered a stack from the edge of the desk and held them out to Blodgada, who quirked her lip as she took them and passed them on to Helblindi. “I assume you came to do your duty, which, may I remind you, is not _solely_ to mock one of the finest Lieutenants this realm has ever seen.”

“Of _course_ I'm here for the reports,” Helblindi replied loftily. He accepted the stack from Blodgada and tossed it to the floor next to him with a grin. “How did it go, rift seeker? Any great discoveries to save our world?”

She ignored him, unrolling the large map across the table as she picked up her conversation with Byleistr once more. “I've used the standard notation,” she explained as she weighed down the corners. “Dots for watchrifts, circles for messagerifts. The colors indicate the different realms and the numbers cross reference to each realm’s own map.”

Byleistr glanced at the map key, then frowned. “Green for Midgard? I thought Midgard was sealed.”

“Not completely,” Blodgada replied, shaking her head. “We did have two watchrifts to Midgard. Granted, it was only two, compared with a few hundred to Muspelheim, and neither of them looked out onto anything remotely interesting. Those of us at the observatory know-” she broke off, gritting her teeth, “ _knew_ that rifts to Midgard were possible, but not like this.” She waved a hand across the green-speckled map.

Helblindi walked to the table and picked up the map of Midgard. “And yet they all lead roughly the same place.” He held a large hand over the sprinkling of marks; only a few of them were scattered beyond the edges of his palm. “I thought your imagination was better than this, cousin.”

“If you bothered to look at the entire map,” she said without rancor, “you’d notice that’s not the only concentration. Just the largest. In any case, rift coalescence is a known phenomenon.” She didn’t bother to turn to him. “You would know that if you had ever visited the observatory. Why do you think it was built?”

Byleistr held up a hand for silence. His eyes darted around the map, then froze exactly where she knew they would. “Standard notation,” he said, almost to himself, then looked up ather. “Crosses for travelrifts?”

She nodded.

“And this?” He tapped his fingernail on a large, clear cross that she had carefully inked in green.

Blodgada took a deep breath. “That is the reason I'm here.”

Byleistr was quiet for a moment. “Cross-realm travel is not possible,” he said. “It hasn't been possible since the All-Father stole the Casket of Winter.”

“It's always been possible,” Blodgada countered. “The Bifrost can do it. The Casket can do it. Hel, the Traitor could do it, and he used neither of those.” She placed her hands on the map, leaning toward where Byleistr was still staring. “I think we can do it, too.”

He considered a moment longer, and then: “What do you need?”

She didn't realize she'd been holding her breath. “We need to build a riftgate. There’s no way the equipment at the station can handle anything this big. I have partial schematics from the observatory, and we can figure out the rest. We'd want to change the design anyway to make it more portable.” She forced down the emotion in her voice. “Think of it, Byleistr. We could reach beyond our own realm. Find the help we need beyond our own borders.”

Byleistr leaned back, studying her. “You’re not suggesting we go to Midgard? Our history with them is bloody. I doubt they would help us.”

“We could take it by force.”

Blodgada turned; she’d forgotten the prince was there. Helblindi didn’t bother looking up into the silence. He merely continued balancing the knife he’d pulled from his boot on one finger. A simple flip, and the knife vanished back into its scabbard. He looked between Blodgada and his king, face expectant and with a grin wider than she’d seen in centuries. “What?” he asked innocently. “It’s not as though we’ve never done it before.”

“And you would do well to remember how that campaign ended,” Byleistr retorted, holding up a hand to forestall the reply that had leapt to Blodgada’s tongue at Helblindi’s insolence. “Midgard has done nothing to us. We will not attack a realm without provocation.”

He scoffed. “Well, that’s terribly noble of us.”

“Not without provocation,” the king repeated firmly. “There has to be a better way.” He turned to Blodgada, resting his hand on the map before him. “If there are portals this large to Midgard, of all places, it stands to reason that there will be others.”

“And to where?” Helblindi was standing now. “Where else would you go? To the elves? To _Asgard_?”

She could almost hear Byleistr’s temper snap. He stood, drawing himself up to his full height; though still shorter than his brother by almost a foot, Byleistr carried the weight of the throne behind him.

“If that is what it takes to save my people?” His voice was low and dangerous. “Yes.”

“You won’t invade a weak, backward realm like Midgard, but you’ll take on the All-Father.” Helblindi narrowed his eyes at his brother, who shook his head.

“Not battle. Negotiation. The Traitor is a son of Odin. We are owed reparations for his actions, and I intend to collect them.”

Helblindi’s laugh was short and sharp. “And you _honestly_ think you’re going to get them? You’re a fool, bro-”

Blodgada’s hand was on her dagger before the words had left his lips, but Byleistr slammed his fist down onto the desk in front of him, sending stacks of parchment flying. The temperature in the room dropped noticeably; Blodgada’s breath sent up wisps of fog.

“Enough.”

“But-”

“I said _enough_. Your king has spoken.”

Byleistr's words were soft and dangerous, and so were Helblindi's; he spoke with gritted teeth. “Yes, my liege.” He spun and left the room, deliberately trampling the pile of reports next to the bench.

Byleistr sighed as the room became less frigid, the spell dissipating along with his temper. He walked to the window and stood with hands behind his back.

“Take whomever you need,” he told Blodgada. “I don’t need to tell you how little time we actually have. I'll inform Drofn that as of this moment, you are to have access to all the people and resources you require. I only ask that you are wise with them, for there are fewer than I think even you realize. I don’t know how many others survived the loss of the observatory, but find anyone you can who might be able to assist you with the schematics. They can begin work on this new riftgate of yours, but I need you back out there hunting as soon as possible. If there is a rift to Midgard, there could be more to other realms.” The sinews in his arms flexed, the only sign of how tightly his hands were clasped together. When he spoke, it was almost to himself. “There have to be.”

She nodded. “Understood, my liege. I'll notify you immediately if… _when_ I find something.”

He nodded, but he was still looking out the window. Blodgada joined him; they stood shoulder to shoulder as they had so many times before, but this was the beginning of a far different battle than either was accustomed to. They stared out at the Traitor’s Waste, its edge barely visible in the rapidly falling dusk.

“Almost every night I stand here,” Byleistr said quietly, “and almost every night I wonder why it happened. My father murdered. Our realm nearly destroyed. But why stop? Why not finish the job? What was the Traitor trying to do?”

A shrug. “We only assume the Bifrost is the Traitor’s work because of what he did to Laufey. Who’s to say it wasn’t the All-Father’s doing?”

Byleistr shook his head. “Odin would never attack a realm unprovoked. His position does not allow him to do so. It had to be one of the sons, and my gut tells me that while that blond idiot may have been the one to start this whole foolish mess, he was not the one to finish it. No, I still believe it was the Traitor. But what did he gain from it?”

“I don't know,” Blodgada said, rocking gently to keep her balance as another aftershock fluttered beneath the courtyard below. Her voice hardened. “But we’ll make certain he answers for it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pronunciation:  
> Blodgada: blode-GAH-dah.


	4. Chapter 4

_The room is dark; not even a starlit glow seeps between the tightly drawn curtains. It is of no consequence. He does not need to see her. Instead, he feverishly maps her skin with teeth and tongue and hands; she arches against him, nails raking along his back and leaving burning lines in their wake. A sigh escapes her as he trails his lips up her neck, mouth seeking hers._

_He catches the faint scent of rotting stone in the second before his lips come down on where hers should be, and suddenly there is nothing beneath him but a featureless construct, a flickering mask where her face used to be. He tries to scramble away, but she lashes out, fingers circling his wrist faster than a serpent’s strike and yanking him back. Her other hand slips around the back of his neck, needle-sharp claws extending delicately into the muscles along his spine. She would smile, if she could; her voice drips with the sweetest of poisons._

_“And just where do you think you’re going, sweet little princeling?”_

Loki woke with a start, twisted between sheets and blankets and struggling to breathe. Light from London’s night sky filtered through the nearly sheer drapes in their bedroom; it didn’t always make for the most restful of sleep, but they had learned early on that it was far better than the alternative. He knew that she preferred it darker, and he’d tried more than once to get her to admit it. She’d merely smiled and changed the subject each time, and after a while, he’d stopped asking.

Aeslin slept next to him on her back, one hand resting on her stomach and her face turned away. Senses heightened after almost a decade of nights on call and well attuned to his sleeping patterns, she was already waking. Loki felt a small, sudden dread in the moment before she turned her face to his, wondering what he would see and praying that he was truly awake. He had been wrong before, and the memories were still seared into his mind.

She was herself when she looked at him, though, still fuzzy from sleep and doing her best to focus. He tried and failed to smile. She’d been sleeping with her hand crushed beneath her face; he stroked his fingers along the neat line of red marks on her cheek with relief. It wasn’t a detail he would have dreamed, and he found himself grateful for the extra confirmation.

“Another one?” she asked softly as she rolled onto her side to look at him, and he could only nod. She slid her hand over his, turning her face to sleepily kiss his palm. He slowed his breathing, focusing on the feeling of her fingers moving from his hand and up his arm, tracing soothing patterns along the tendons and muscles. He let out a long breath, eyes closing gratefully as the unbearable tightness along his spine finally began to relax. She slipped her hand up and around his shoulder to his back, keeping it well away from his neck; they’d quickly learned that lesson, too.

“Tell me what you need.”

He slid his arm around her waist. Burrowing his face in the warm space where her neck and shoulder met, he sighed. “Just this.”

She held him for a moment, then rolled to her back, gently pulling him with her. Loki rested his head on her chest, weaving himself tightly around her body. They stayed that way for a moment, the last of his tension draining out of him.

“I think it’s all right now,” he finally said, and her fingers went slowly, carefully to the nape of his neck, spiraling through the sweat-dampened curls that clung to his skin. Exhausted, he tried to fall back into sleep, but his mind refused to be quieted. He spoke again.

“Tell me something I wouldn’t have known.”

It was a game they had played several times; he had found it an easy way to determine dream from reality. She talked about a play they had seen a few weeks before, even going so far as to sing him snatches of songs from the second act. He clung to her as she grounded him, guiding him firmly back to earth with Shakespeare and Darwin and a few dirty limericks thrown in for good measure, and little by little, he drifted into a light sleep.

***

The dream triggered a headache. The bad ones sometimes did; he woke with his head spinning and the sure knowledge that any attempt at movement would invite disaster. She recognized the look on his face the second she came awake, and she was stumbling across the room and closing the blackout curtains (it was the one exception to the rule) before he could put two words together.

“Try the shot?” was all she said, and he made a hopeful sort of groan as the bed revolved merrily beneath him. He dug his fingers into the pillow clutched to his chest and tried to count the seconds until she returned. A faint sound, followed by the sharp scent of rubbing alcohol and the slight pinch of the injection. Loki gritted his teeth and hung on, hoping to ride out the images and sounds that howled through his brain long enough for the medicine to work.

The headaches had become more rare since the Other’s death, but they were no less vivid, and slowly, Loki had come to realize that what he had thought hallucinations were nothing more than warped memories. The Void. His fall. The early days at SHIELD. He had learned to focus on individual images with Sam’s help; sorting through them was a useful trick for passing the time until the worst of it was past.

The pain eased slowly into a dull throb, and at last he was his own once more. He sensed her in the darkness and reached out, hands trembling like an old man’s; she caught them in hers and brought them to her lips. He bit his tongue against what he wanted to say to her.

The memories this time had not been kind. She had heard them before; he would not tell her again.

“You’ll be late,” he managed instead.

“I can call someone,” she replied, voice a barely audible hum against his knuckles.

“Too soon,” he said, hoping she’d understand. “Ruin all your hard work.”

A gentle sigh as she brushed her free hand across his hair, so light he barely felt it. “I just hate to leave you like this.”

“Be fine; I’ll sleep. Call the office?”

“Of course. Was there anything big going down today?”

“Don’t think so.”

“I’ll let them know.”

“Thank you. Love you.”

There was a soft rustle of sheets as she leaned forward and touched her lips to his forehead. “Love you back.” She rose from the bed, headed toward the master bath, and he spoke without thinking.

“Don’t linger.” He winced in the darkness, wanting to hate himself for the words but unable to bring himself to actually do so.

Her footsteps stopped, then grew louder as she approached his side of the bed again. “I won’t,” she said quietly. “I’ll have Josten cover my office hours; goodness knows I’ve done it for him often enough. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

The medication was starting to gain momentum; his words came more easily with each passing minute.

“I hate this,” he admitted suddenly, feeling the mattress shift as she sank down next to him. He had meant for it to sound vicious; instead, he only sounded weary.

She tucked a curl of hair behind his ear. “I know.”

“Do you know the worst part?” he asked, almost glad she couldn’t see his face in the dark room. “I don’t actually care that he killed me.” He exhaled; it was almost a laugh. “I just wish I didn’t have to remember it.”

***

Loki felt almost human again when he woke a long while later. He pushed himself upright carefully, bracing one hand on the nightstand. His fingers bumped against what he determined after a moment to be a bottle of water with the top already loosened; he sent a mental thanks for her foresight and drained it rapidly.

Making his way across the cool wooden floors to the window, he slowly twitched the curtains open, squinting in the overcast light. The pain didn’t immediately return, and he left out a long, grateful breath. He shivered slightly as he turned away from the window, sweat cooling on his bare skin; he thought about showering for a moment, then realized exactly how much walking across the room had winded him. With a sigh, he pulled on a pair of sleep pants and a hoodie, then snagged a pillow from the bed and wandered toward the living room. He stretched out on the couch, flicking through channels until he found something that sounded vaguely interesting and trying to pretend he wasn’t merely waiting for her to get home.

Aeslin returned within a couple of hours, shuffling off bag and boots near the door and coming directly over to him. He smiled up at her as she snugged herself next to him on the couch, wrapping an arm around her hips.

“Home sooner than I thought you’d be,” he said, having no actual idea how long she’d been gone. He buried his nose into the edge of her jacket and inhaled the smell of cold that still clung to her. “And wearing my favorite scent, too. So thoughtful of you.”

She slipped her gloves off. “You can take the giant out of the frost...” she began, running cool fingers along his jaw, and he grinned as he nipped at the tip of her finger in retaliation for perpetuating Tony’s joke. She gave him an answering smile as she stood, shrugging off her coat. “Hungry?”

“Not really,” he said, making a face. “Just grimy. Thought about a shower, but then I figured it might be wiser to wait until you could supervise.” He wiggled his eyebrows, and she rolled her eyes as she went to hang up her coat and scarf.

“Still a little loopy, then?”

He pushed himself to a vaguely seated position, biding his time until she got back into range. “More than a little.” He leaned forward carefully and shoved the ottoman to the end of the couch with one hand, meeting her eyes as he did so. She took the hint and sat, feet propped up; he shifted, allowing his head to thump unceremoniously onto her lap. She laughed lightly as he found her hand, bringing it to his lips and then trapping it against his breastbone with his own fingers.

“Don’t you want your pillow?”

He closed his eyes blissfully and shook his head. “I like this better.” His brow knit. “Forgot to ask if you were ready, though. Sorry. I just needed-” he broke off. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she replied, running her fingers gently across his forehead and smoothing out the wrinkles she found. “I promise.”

***

_She hates his dreams. She hates that he has them, hates what they do to him. She wishes she could take them, if only for a little while. She wishes she could do more, or that she had seen the signs sooner. She has spent her life around warriors; she should have known better._

_She wishes sometimes that the Other had lived long enough for her to kill him. She understands that it was Loki’s place to do it instead. It was his right to put his own demons to rest, to send them back to hell where they belonged._

_Except they don’t rest, and all too often, neither does Loki._

_Sam has done his best, and all three of them believe the worst is over; on days like this, though, she is not so sure._

_Her class had been little better than a disaster; distracted and troubled as she had been, she had been teaching largely on autopilot. She’d allowed herself to become sidetracked by a few tangential questions, and as a result, she’d missed a few key points that she would have to spend precious time on in the next workshop. Something else for the Other to answer for, however minor. She sighs quietly, pushing the useless thought from her mind; it is rapidly replaced by another._

_She has an idea of what this dream was, based on his actions afterward. She shoves down the familiar, cold anger that threatens to surface at the reminder that even that escape is sometimes closed to him. A tiny part of her wishes, not for the first time, that Loki had faltered just long enough to give her an excuse to destroy the creature herself. She wonders if it would have made any difference._

If wishes were horses _, her father would say. Phil would have a very different sentiment to share, and she suddenly cannot decide which of them she misses more. The thought steals her breath for a brief, vicious second; she clenches her jaw. This is not the time. It is not her turn. It is his._

_She watches him doze fitfully on her lap, paler than usual and with dark circles still under his eyes. His hoodie is only half zipped, a testament to both his dexterity under the worst conditions and to how sick he truly was. She would help him with it, if she could; he hates to feel the slightest bit exposed at times like this, but he clings to her hand even in sleep, keeping it tight against his bare skin. He will not let her go, and so she is content to stay where she is, to be his armor for the moment. She leans her head back, letting the drone of whatever documentary he’s found wash over her and feeling his chest rise and fall beneath their linked hands._

_She startles awake a few moments later, briefly disoriented, and looks down at him. He is studying her with eyes made all the brighter blue by the shadows beneath them; he speaks again, and she realizes that it was his voice that woke her._

_“It’s not weakness,” he merely says, an undercurrent of defiance and hope in his tone. It’s almost as though he’s talking to himself, but the look on his face as he searches hers is both familiar and heartbreaking. “It’s not weakness.”_

_“No,” she agrees, as she has so many times before. “It’s not.”_

_***_

Parker called her later that afternoon as she was sitting on the bathroom counter waiting for Loki to finish his shower. Loki peeked around the edge of the curtain, and she pointed to her phone, then the doorway. A nod; she slipped into the bedroom, leaving the door open a crack.

“Hey,” she greeted. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“How do you say _I can’t feel my face_ in French? Asking for a friend.”

“Sorry,” she replied. “Dead languages only. You could always check with Loki later, though. Hand him a dictionary, get him tipsy, wait a few minutes for the All-Speak to kick in, and he’ll be able to teach you _and_ your friend all _sorts_ of things to say.”

There was a brief, thoughtful pause. “No kidding? That wasn’t just a fluke?”

Aeslin laughed. “Nope, but I _will_ tell you that his Latin is atrocious.” A word drifted out on the steam, and she tilted her head toward the bathroom door. “Polo,” she answered.

“What?”

“Nothing to worry about,” she told Parker. “It’s just hasn’t been the best day on our end. So why French? I thought you were going to Sedona.”

“Selvig changed his mind at the last minute,” Parker explained. “We’ve been in Banff for the past week, and l don’t think I’ve been warm since Thursday. How do people even _live_ here?”

She blinked. “You mean you’re not used to it? I thought you were from Vermont.”  

“Yes, and if you’ll notice, I’ve spent the last several years moving further away from it. First it was DC, then the Academy, followed by wherever the hell the Warehouse was…”

“West Virginia.”

“Really? Are you allowed to even say that on an unsecured line?”

She rolled her eyes. “First off, it’s not an unsecured line, and second, it’s kind of a moot point now, wouldn’t you say?”

“Fair enough. Still, it fits the pattern, even if I had no real clue where I was at the time. And let’s not forget the move to Malibu, which was one of _the_ smartest things I’ve ever done, unconscionable cost of living be damned. I didn’t even mind the week on the Olympic peninsula, but Banff? Do you know where last paycheck went? Socks and long johns. So. Many. Long johns. Knowing my luck, we’re going to Maui next and I’ll never get to use them again.”

“Polo,” she said to the doorway again, then grinned into the phone. “I bet that would just ruin you.”

“Absolute devastation,” Parker agreed. “Do you know, I don’t even think Selvig notices the cold? He’s too excited about what we’re finding. We stayed out after dark other night, which was a fan _tas_ tic idea, by the way, and I said something about not being able to feel my nose. Guess what he told me. Go on.”

“I hate guessing games.”

“ _Then you’re not trying hard enough._ Seriously. I have never met anyone who is just com _plete_ ly unaffected by subzero temperatures, and that includes Frosty the Boyfriend. Did you know they have auroras in Banff? I wasn’t kidding about it being a good idea. It was amazing. The locals say they haven’t seen this sort of activity for decades.”

“Parker?”

“Yeah?”

“How much caffeine have you had today?”

“More than is strictly healthy, I’m sure, but I’m fine. Just stoked at what we’re finding.”

“What _are_ you guys tracking across North America, anyway? You never did tell me.”

There was a brief pause. “Promise it’s a secured line?”

The noise from the shower had stopped, and she could hear Loki rummaging around.

“Are you using the phone Tony issued you?”

“Yup. He gave one to Selvig, too.”

“Then it’s secured, but you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Unless it’s aliens. Please tell me if it’s aliens, because if that’s the case, I’m pretty sure Barton’s going to want me to clear my schedule. I’ll also need to stock up on painkillers and gauze.”

“Not aliens. Gravitational anomalies. Erik started picking up scattered ones about six months ago; then he started following them. Once Tony took over his funding, Selvig asked if he qualified for an intern. Tony approved it, and then Erik emailed him to see if he knew anybody that could keep a cool head in bad conditions and sort through mountains of data without losing their mind. My name apparently came up more than once; Banner sent him after me, too.” He laughed. “I had no idea he meant the ‘cool head’ part so literally, but at this point, I don’t even care. I’m having a blast.”

She smiled at Loki as he finally emerged from the master bath, damp hair tumbling to his shoulders and a towel slung low around his hips. He brushed a kiss to her temple as he walked past, already looking better than he had just a few hours before. If past experience held true, the quiet, haunted look wouldn’t entirely leave his face for a while yet, but she was encouraged.

“Not to mention the fact that you’re on a first name basis with one of your heroes,” she said to Parker, eyes still on Loki. She reached for his hand as he went toward the dresser, and he held her fingers for a few seconds before disappearing into the closet in search of something to wear.

“Weird, right? I mean, it was one thing to hang out with him at Tony’s party. Something completely different to spend almost a month with nobody else for company. I’ve gotten to know him quite a bit better, to say the least.” He seemed thoughtful for a moment. “He’s lonely. From what he’s told me, he hasn’t heard from Foster or Lewis in over six months, and I don’t think it ended well. I get him, though. I didn’t think I would, not at first, but he’s a really awesome guy, not to mention hella smart. He’s almost convinced me to join the dark side.”

“Meaning?”

“Astrophysics. He agrees with Banner that I might not be in the right line of work, so I’m wondering if I should take a page from your book and start researching whether or not Stark’s tuition reimbursement program includes a second PhD.”

She snorted. “Don’t start down that path, son; it leads to madness. Take it from me. They’re more addictive than tattoos, and I should know. I stopped at one tattoo. Degrees? Not so much.”

He laughed. “Hey, I need to run. My laptop just finished its download, so I’ve got some data to wade through. Erik’s got a theory he’s having me test; we thought at first it was just that we were getting better at finding them, but now we think that there might actually be more of these things than we originally thought. He’s trying to find the next likely cluster. I’m supposed to go through what we found here, see if I can spot any patterns.”

“Good hunting,” she said as she made her way down the hall toward the living room. “Glad to hear from you.”

“Same. Tell tall, dark and emo hello for me. Is he okay?”

She glanced over into the kitchen. Loki invariably craved sweets on days like this, and half the ingredients for his favorite cookies were already lined up on the counter. He gave her a sheepish grin as he closed the freezer, the bag of chocolate chips in his hand already open, and her heart broke a little.

“Yes,” she replied with a small, answering smile. “He will be.”

***

Loki was completely back to his normal self by the time the weekend rolled around; they spent a lazy Saturday morning with scones and crosswords, listening to the rain patter on the windows. The doorbell rang; both were briefly startled at the unfamiliar noise. Aeslin worked her way free of the tangle of blankets and Loki that covered most of the couch, and he watched her curiously as disappeared into the short hallway that led to the front door. She returned only a moment later, followed by some of the last two people Loki expected to see.

“Hey,” Banner said with a grin, lifting a hand in greeting. He was followed closely by Rogers, and Loki stared at them both for a curious moment before tossing the blanket aside and standing.

“How’d you get up here?” he managed. “We didn’t get a call.”

Banner gestured vaguely toward the other man. “Well, Steve here was all for going full paratrooper onto your veranda, but I managed to convince him that a more conventional approach might be better. What with it being London and all. And daytime. And, you know, not having intel on which balcony was actually _yours_.” He took off his glasses, wiping them on the hem of his shirt. “Nat, uh… she kind of dropped the ball on that one.”

Aeslin raised an eyebrow at Banner as she took Steve’s jacket and scarf, hanging them on the hooks near the bookshelf. “Conventional approach,” she scoffed. “This from the guy who once pushed me out of a plane with no chute just to see if I could fly.”

Steve’s ears perked up at that. “Could you?”

Her eyes were still on Banner, whose face still wore that familiar Mona Lisa smile. “No,” she said. “No, I couldn’t.”

“On a com _plete_ ly unrelated note,” Banner said to Loki as he tucked his hands into his pockets and made his way further into the room. “Did you know that your fiance can swear in seventeen different languages, and that’s not including rude hand gestures?”

A flicker of a smile came over Loki’s face as he shook Steve’s hand. “I _did_ know that. She demonstrated at _least_ eight of them in under sixty seconds during the first paintball tournament. I was _shocked_. Also impressed, but don’t tell her that.”

“Standing right here,” she said from near the stove, “and just for that, y’all can make your _own_ damn coffee.”

Steve grinned. “On it,” he said. “Just point me in the right direction.”

“Science, Doctor,” Banner continued loftily as he shrugged off his battered leather jacket and hung it carefully next to Rogers’. “It was all for science. Personal development. I was doing you a favor at great personal risk.”

“Then why are you laughing?”

He took her by the shoulders, shaking gently. “Because it was also hilarious. _Still_ hilarious, and it’s been what, almost a year and a half? Sweet lord above, that _scream_. Thanks for not killing me, by the way.”

She rolled her eyes as he planted a brotherly kiss on her forehead. “Oh, like it would have worked.”

“I would have let you try,” he replied with a wink. “For _science_. Hey, are those scones?”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Loki said, smacking his hand away. “Not until you tell us how you managed to get past the front desk without them even giving us a heads up.”

“It was actually pretty easy,” Rogers admitted from his place by the coffee machine. “There was this kid in the lobby that recognized me, even without the uniform. Nice kid; actually looks a lot like you, now that I think about it.” He turned to Banner. “What was his name?”

“Shaun,” came the reply, and Loki chuckled.

“Ah. Yes. We’ve met. Halloween first, but I’ve run into him a few times since then. He and his dad live a few floors down.”

Aeslin glanced over at Banner, as well. “What, he didn’t recognize you, too?”

“Nah,” answered the physicist, “not at first. But in his defense, I was wearing more than just pants. I was also, you know… not green.” He shrugged. “It’s a pretty common mistake. Anyway, we told him we were on a secret mission; after about a level ten eye roll, he vouched for us at the front desk and brought us up in exchange for autographs. He’s already got the collector cards; we just need to stop by after we’re done here to sign them.”

“Done doing _what_?”

Banner’s brow knit as he took the cup of coffee Steve handed him. “Parker didn’t tell you we’d be coming?”

Aeslin and Loki both blinked stupidly at the other two for a second, and then it finally clicked for her. She stared at Banner.

“ _You’re_ my wedding planner?” She thumped into a chair.

“Not exactly,” he admitted. “There are actually quite a few of us; I’m just the first wave. Reconnaissance, if you will. Gathering initial intel. I’m also your color and props guy.”

Her eyes got a little wider as she turned to Steve, who raised his hands in the universal _not-me_ gesture. “Don’t look at me. I’m just his ride.”

She looked back to the physicist. “Don’t give me that face, kid,” he said, not unkindly. “I know you. I know _both_ of you, but especially you, sweets. You’re an academic. You’re busy and you’re easily distracted and occasionally clueless about how things actually work, and if you plan to stick to the date you picked, you don’t actually have as much time as you think you do. We’re here to help. We _want_ to help, because let’s face it, we’re almost as excited about all this as you are.”

“Really?” she winced at the wobble in her voice.

Banner’s lip quirked. “ _Please_ , woman. I’ve been shipping you dorks since I walked in on the two of you that day on the helicarrier, and Tony started about five minutes later. Pepper’s almost as bad. Just let us loose, and we’ll make this happen.”

She shook her head, a grin on her face. “Okay,” was all she could manage, and Loki gave her a matching smile.

“Okay,” Banner repeated, rubbing his hands together; his face carried the same look of excitement it always had at the start of a new research project. “Show me what you’ve got.”

***

Loki and Banner were crowded at the table; Bruce was scribbling notes onto a tablet as Loki sketched out the admittedly few ideas he and Aeslin had, as well as giving him a brief rundown of Aesir marriage traditions to consider. Steve had taken to wandering the living room, looking at the same five pictures in succession, and she stopped him on his current round.

“You need something to do.”

He glanced at her gratefully. “Yeah, kind of. I… it’s been a few years since I was in London. Looked a little different then.” He shrugged. “It’s all right. Just a little strange.”

She thought for a second. “Sketchbook?”

“I forgot mine. We were in a hurry; my mission ran late.”

“Not what I meant,” she said, slipping her arm through his. “Come with me; I’ve got plenty of spares.”

***

She brought Steve another cup of coffee a long while later; he smiled his thanks as she sat next to him, resting his the sketchbook on his knee. She lifted the edge of it.

“May I?”

“Of course,” he said; there was a faintly chagrined expression on his face as she looked at the first page, then flipped to the next. She glanced up at him in surprise, then back at the drawings. She’d been expecting sketches of London skyline or a character study.

She had _not_ been expecting to see several views of a simple, elegant wedding dress.

Steve’s gaze flicked over to the table where Loki and Banner had moved on to busily trying to one-up each other with stories of the worst weddings they’d ever attended. (From what she’d been able to tell, Loki was ahead, barely, and only because so much of his childhood revolved around Thor and the Warriors Three.)

“They’re contagious,” Steve said with a shrug.

“It’s gorgeous,” she replied, taking in the clean lines and the way the deep green at the top faded into white. “You struck me as the more traditional type, though.”

His grin deepened. “But you’re not, and it’s not meant for _me_ , you goof. Come on. Aren’t you supposed to be a genius or something?”

“Only sometimes.”

“Besides,” Steve went on, putting his coffee cup on the end table and taking the sketchbook back, “from what Peggy used to say, white wedding dresses really just started out as status symbols. She thought they were boring and impractical.” He resumed drawing, fingers moving smoothly as he spoke. “She read like crazy when she was a kid, wanted to know everything there was to know about everything. When she was nine or ten, she learned that in China, white is actually the color of mourning, and red is for joy. She decided then and there that she was going to wear red at her wedding. There wouldn’t be any room for sadness on a day like that.” He blended colors with the tip of his pinky, lost in thought for a moment.

“Did she?”

“White,” he answered softly, not looking up from his work. “Red ribbon around her waist, red roses on her hat. She said it was one of the few times she compromised.” He wiped his finger on his khakis without thinking, leaving a faint green smudge, and surveyed his drawing critically. “You really like it?”

“I love it,” she said. “Know anyone who could make it for me?”

He chuckled. “Not a soul. That’s Pepper’s department; she’s the one with all the connections. Just the chauffeur, remember?”

An answering grin. “Right. Right. I forgot.” She watched him for a second as he flicked a pencil through his fingers, his face still distracted. “How long are you here?”

“I have to be back in DC tomorrow night. I’m not sure about Bruce; Stark’s been trying to lure him to Malibu full-time, but for all I know he’s planning to set up shop in your coat closet until the wedding day to make sure everything gets done on time. Why? Did you guys have plans? We didn’t check.”

She glanced over to where Loki and Bruce were finally cleaning up plates and glasses; the slightly traumatized look on Banner’s face made it clear that Loki had decisively won the final round. “Depends,” she said with a smile. “Up for a sushi and game night?”

He grinned. “Absolutely.”

“Then yes,” she replied. “We definitely have plans. How’s your Catan face?”

He followed her toward the kitchen. “A little rusty,” he admitted.

“Well then,” she answered, nudging Banner with one hip as she walked past. “Looks like you two showed up just in time.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Wednesday! Feedcrack, speculation and random fangirling appreciated and encouraged. Love you all! <3


	5. Chapter 5

The dream had not returned in full since his visit to the Norns. It reappeared in fits and starts, always at the worst of times. The images would not leave him; they clung to the edges of rooms and flickered across his vision. Sleeping or waking, it did not matter, and it was getting harder and harder to tell the difference. The thought, the fear was consuming him, piece by tiny piece, and the cracks and holes were beginning to show. A feast left too early. A moment of distraction in front of one too many petitioners. He had snapped himself back to the present a fraction of a second too late, but the damage had been done, and it was not the first time it had happened. The confusion on their faces was always fleeting, at best, inevitably followed by apology and an understanding look.

He was the All-Father, after all. His ministers, courtiers and subjects knew that there was more at play than they could hope to fully comprehend; that was just the way of things. They merely accepted his distraction and subsequent dismissal as necessary, quickly finding something else to do or somewhere else to be.

The door to the solarium closed behind the last petitioner of the day, and the sound had barely faded before Odin was on his feet. He brushed past the scribe’s table without so much as a glance, blood-red cloak swirling behind him; the neatly stacked parchments meant for his seal fluttered in his wake like leaves in a storm. The scribe, trying not to panic as decrees and letters went flying, spoke without thinking.

“My liege, yo-”

“It can wait.” Odin’s voice was sharp, and he did not even glance back as he stalked from the room.

***

The sun warmed the garden balcony; Odin rested his hands on the wide stone balustrade. Lost in memory, he stared across the glittering city below him without seeing a thing.

_Thor stands before him, Tesseract glowing fitfully in the glass prison still clenched in his hand. There is a faint creak of leather as his son shifts uncomfortably under Odin’s steely gaze, but he does look away when his father asks him to repeat himself._

_“He will not return. He has chosen to remain.”_

_“With his creature? You did tell him it could accompany him?”_

_“I did.” There is an undercurrent of what might be distaste beneath Thor’s words; clearly his tangles with Loki’s pet have left a poor impression. “It changed nothing; his answer was the same. He chooses exile.”_

_“The choice was not his, as I recall. It was not a request.”_

_The faintest trace of mirth crosses Thor’s face then; it is gone almost before Odin recognizes it for what it is. “I don’t think he cares, Father.” There is a memory in Thor’s eyes, a strange, humble thing, and Odin is not sure he likes it. His son continues, the nervous whitening of his knuckles around the Tesseract’s case giving lie to the calm, easy tone in his voice. “And what harm would it be to leave him there? He willingly serves the sentence you pronounced upon him. He has spent far longer stripped of his magics than you required of me. Will you not consider-”_

_“No. I will not.”_

_“But he has fought and bled in defense of a realm not his, and by his own choice. He did far more for Midgard than I ever did.”_

_“He also did far more_ to _that realm than you ever did. Or have you forgotten his actions so quickly? Have you forgotten what he did? He nearly murdered you, and would have succeeded had your magic not returned.”_

_Thor is already shaking his head. “That was before, and I do not…” He stops, clearing his throat, then starts over, his voice a little stronger. “He was not himself, All-Father. I didn’t understand then, but I think I do now.”_

_Odin’s eye narrows as he begins to see where his son is going. “Do you.”_

_“Don’t you see, Father?” Thor says, voice laced with defiance and optimism. “He has grown. He has changed. Surely you must see that. My brother has proven himself wort-”_

_“Silence.” The word lashes from Odin’s lips, and Thor’s voice stumbles to a halt. “Even if that were a condition of his sentence, which, as I remember, it was_ not _, he has done nothing of the sort.”_

_Thor recovers, relentless. “He is not what you think,” he tries next. “He is different.” He scrambles back to what he knows, to the few days he spent unwillingly on Midgard. “Perhaps I did not learn as much as I should have, but Loki-”_

_“He is no different,” Odin replies curtly, “as is shown by the skill he apparently_ still _has to create illusions powerful enough to fool even those closest to him. Nothing has changed, my son. Nothing at all."_

_The strange memory returns to Thor’s face, and his chin lifts. “I thought as much, too, Father, but I no longer believe it.”_

_“Then you are a fool,” retorts the All-Father, “while Loki, unfortunately, is not. Let him play his game, if that is what he wishes. Let him have his illusions; in time, he will see that they are nothing more than cobwebs and dust. Let him keep his allies, for as long as they can stand him. They will learn the truth soon enough.”_

_A sullen look comes across Thor’s face, and he all but scuffs his boot on the polished stone floor._

_“You doubt me?” Odin asks, almost kindly. “I have known the boy for a thousand years. It is just another strand in his web, Thor, and I will not restore him. He has proven himself, yes, time and time again. He will therefore remain in exile, even after his little game is played out, and his magic will remain sealed away. It is for the best, my son.”_

_Thor meets his eyes; the set of his jaw is all too familiar, but he holds his peace. “Of course,” he says after a moment, with only a brief bob of his head._

_“Then we are finished,” Odin says, gesturing to the case in Thor’s hand. “Return that to the Vault; see to it that wards are set, and it is well hidden.”_

_“As you wish.” He turns on his heel, battered cape flowing behind him; the words he would not say linger in the room long after the door has closed._

- _You are wrong_.-

Odin clenched one hand against the unyielding stone of the balcony, heedless of the edge that cut into his time-roughened palm.

 _I offered you your birthright,_ he thought, an image of the boy in chains creeping to the forefront of his mind. _I gave you every reason to take it, to die on that wasted, forsaken realm onto which I dropped you._ He drummed the fingers of his free hand, tapping a gentle, familiar pattern without thinking about it. _So why didn’t you? I gave you exactly what you wanted. I saw it in your face. In the throne room, as you stood bound before me with that stupid grin on your face. But it was not the first time. I saw it when you let go, when you willingly threw yourself into the Void._

The gentle thrum of his fingers on the balustrade slowed fractionally. _I saw it. I know I did._

_Didn’t I?_

The thought died a second after it surfaced; he forced it back down into the depths of his mind and drowned it. It would not do to think that way. He was the All-Father. He could not be wrong; his very position did not allow it. He ruled billions upon billions of lives. He could not afford doubt. He could not afford weakness. He could not afford to second guess himself, not at a time like this.

And yet.

His mind went back to his visit with the Norns; he had gone seeking answers, but as always, the damned witches had done nothing but muddy the waters further. Odin had done what was necessary. He should have executed the boy for treason, but he had allowed himself to be swayed. His wife. His son. The mortal and her letter. He had been shocked at the creature’s audacity, had wondered at the time what Loki had done to her. What he had said. How many times he’d had to bed her before she’d done as he required.

That was in the past, now. Loki was banished. He could not bring him back, especially not now that it was clear he would not come willingly. Neither could pretend that nothing had happened, and Odin could not allow a viper back into his household. Not without magic, and absolutely not with. The risk to was too great.

And yet.

He closed his eyes; the now-familiar image of Frigga flashed across the blackness. Blood soaked along the delicate threads of her bodice, seeping gently into each whorl, each flower as he watched. The stone cut into the palm of his hand at last; he drew in a hiss of air as he pulled it up, watching the deep red beads prick through the surface.

 _You have no future_.

He clenched his fist.

_I was not wrong. I cannot go back on my word. The will of the All-Father must be immovable. Not even I can change it. He still lives. That will have to be enough._

Skuld’s remembered laugh flickered merrily through his brain, and he knew in his heart that it would not be.

The sudden scuff of a boot on stone brought him rapidly around. He stared at the guard for a moment, but the Einherjar said nothing. Odin’s voice was harsher than he meant it to be.

“Speak.”

The Einherjar startled to attention. He was younger than he had seemed at first glance, and obviously rattled, but his reply was strong and clear.

“I’ve been sent by the Watcher, my liege,” he said, voice urgent as he drew himself a little taller. “He says there’s something you need to see.”

***

_-Jotunheim-_

“Anything?” Blodgada asked as she slid from beneath the riftgate. She had been right; the aftershock an hour ago had knocked a gear out of alignment. Fixing it had been the easy part. Getting to it and putting the mechanism back together afterward had been a very different story.

“Maybe,” said Vornir, peering at the gauges on the panel in front of him. “I’m definitely getting something, but now the lens readings don’t agree with the gate.”

“Did you recalibrate the lens after the shock?”

His guilty look answered her question, and Blodgada gave him half a smile. “If you truly wish to become a rift hunter, I should tell you now that you’re going to be spending half your life calibrating that Hel-begotten lens. Best get used to it.”

He gave her an answering smirk as he hurried to the theodolite, stepping carefully over the wires and chains that linked it to the riftgate.

Vornir was young, still a student, really, but he had the aptitude and was a remarkably quick learner. Excited at the prospect of expanding his knowledge beyond what he could see through a watchrift lens, he’d all but climbed over the others at the rift station when she had gone there looking for an assistant. More importantly, he understood her goals. He knew that the time and personalized training were merely a means to more vital end, and he always carried that in his mind. They had had ample time to talk as they crisscrossed the wastes, and she had learned that he was more observant than she had originally believed. She had explained a bit about their purpose; he had only nodded as she confirmed what he already suspected. If anything, after learning that things were just as bad as he’d feared, he’d worked even harder, often pushing himself beyond exhaustion until Blodgada forced them both to stop. He did make mistakes from time to time, but they were getting less and less frequent, and to his credit, he only made each mistake once.

And he was getting _very_ good at calibrating the lens. The dust she slapped from her clothes barely had time to disperse before the flickering gauges settled into their proper readings. “Good,” she said as he returned. “Now come tell me what you see.”

Vornir tapped the gauges one by one. “Stability at eighty percent. Not ideal, but usable. A decent size; big enough for travel, but barely.” He went across the panel, reading off specifications.

She nodded. His training was paying off. He’d be able to hunt rifts on his own soon, but for now she still needed him here. He finished his assessment of the rift, and she smiled as she asked him the final question. “End point?”

“Golden crystal,” he grinned back. “Asgard.”

Asgard. Finally. It had been months since she had found the travelrift to Midgard. After her meeting with Byleistr, she had spent precious time finding schematics and organizing engineers. Since then, the vast majority of her time had been spent searching the Traitor’s Waste for rifts, sleeping only a few hours at night and walking tens of thousands of steps each day. She had found one other rift large enough to travel through. It had been to Svartalfheim, and she had known there was no help to be had there. Even that was weeks ago, now. But this. _This_ was what she had been searching for. It had taken a long time to find, granted, but once she had come to understand how rare the larger holes were, she felt immensely fortunate that she had found Asgard on only the third rift. Now the help Jotunheim so needed was nearly within reach.

And she had not been the only one working toward the goal. Blodgada ran a hand along the top of the gauge panel. When she had arrived back at the Capitol to give a report to Byleistr after the gate to Svartalfheim, she saw that she had not been the only one with many sleepless nights. He’d put the schematics and several former observatory workers to good use, and they’d managed to complete a riftgate of sorts. It still needed to be tested; there was no guarantee that it would work. The engineers had needed to make so many modifications that it was now nothing like the flawless machines at the observatory. This riftgate was a hodgepodge of scavenged equipment, rigging, sweat and more than a few curses, but to Blodgada it was beautiful. A hope seemed infused throughout the dull bronze and glass, and it her eyes shone as bright as the golden crystal. She and Vornir had spent a few hours learning how to break it down and set it up again, not an easy feat with only the two of them, but they’d figured it out quickly. Splitting the load between themselves and a pair of pack animals, they’d been back out onto the wastes almost before the porters had finished replenishing their supplies.

“All right,” she said briskly as she pulled herself back to the present. “Let’s make sure we have all the information we need. Our location, rift endpoint, time, date-”

Vornir gave a tired laugh as he scribbled. “Hel if I know what day it is, much less the time. Have you been keeping track?”

A rueful smile touched her lips. “Vaguely. No matter, just get as close as you can. Remember, this is just a test of equipment; much as we want it, this is not a trip to Asgard. We have to be sure that it works, and once we’re convinced it’s reliable and safe, then we’ll look into whether or not cross-realm rifts are _also_ reliable and safe. It might be wise to go back to the rift to Svartalfheim for that, now I’m thinking about it, but but we’re still weeks away from an actual journey. There’s no need to get excited yet.”

“Of course not,” he said, jotting more notes onto the roll of parchment. “It’s not like this is the most incredible discovery since the Casket or anything. Remind me which of us you’re telling not to be excited?”

Blodgada gave him a look that had terrified lesser men on the battlefield, and he merely rolled his eyes at her. She grinned, then took a deep breath. “I’ll run the gate. You stay here and keep an eye the gauges. I’m afraid if we put the theodolite any closer, it might destabilize things. That will be something to test later, but for today we’ll keep it simple. Goal of two minutes, then off it goes. Understood?” He nodded and got into position as she walked to the gate. She flipped a few switches, and she could hear the machine spinning up. The lever was a smaller version of the one in the observatory, but it felt wonderful in her hand.

She could barely hear Vornir over the rumble of gears as he shouted “And… ready!”

“Engaging the gate!” she shouted back. She pulled the lever, and with a hiss the gate activated, forcing the rift wider and opening a window through the darkness.

The color. She had forgotten the wild, shocking color of the other realms. Even muted through the watchrift lenses, colors vibrated and sang. Here, there was no buffering lens, nothing to come between her and the riot of light before her. She stood before the rift, entranced. A slight breeze slipped through as if through a window, cooling the tears on her face. She raised a hand, reaching out toward the breeze, toward the color, toward the salvation of her world.

Blodgada struggled to come back to herself. This was a test, not a journey. As she pulled back her hand she realized there were strange overtones humming through the sound of the gate. It took her a moment longer to realize it was not the gate. Vornir was screaming.

“It’s collapsing! Get away! It’s collapsing!”

She whirled to look at the gate. It was still rumbling, perhaps vibrating a bit, but they had expected that. From beneath it, she saw a glint of metal. “No, it’s all right,” she called back. “The dust panel’s fallen off. Everything’s fine!”

“No, the rift!” She could barely hear him. “It’s destabilized the rift! It’s collapsing!”

 _No._ Blodgada’s stomach clenched as she turned back to Asgard. _No._ She had found the rift. They had built the gate. Everything was in place. This was the best, the only chance her people had to survive, and it was disappearing. Even now the glowing rift was visibly smaller than a moment ago. Her mind raced. Half a span it had taken to get this far. How many more Jotun would starve in another?

“Tell Byleistr to be ready!” she yelled over the noise. She eyed the gate carefully. It was still shrinking, beginning to flicker. She would have to be precise.

“For what?” Blodgada didn’t turn at Vornir’s panicked voice. “What the Hel are you-”

“For the All-Father,” she shouted, and launched herself at the rift.

***

_This is not the sort of passage that Blodgada is used to. Her travels on Jotunheim have always been little more than a whisper against her skin as she stepped from one part of the realm to another. But now she is tumbling, adrift between one step and the next. The colors have gone; the darkness is broken only by intermittent sparks. A wild rushing wind fills her ears, and then her head, as she is buffeted by a thousand unseen forces. The long seconds pass; it is impossible to say how many, and Blodgada, a veteran of countless battles, feels a sensation that she had trained out of her body centuries before: panic. She curls in on herself, hands over her ears, eyes clenched shut. The blindness, the noise, the shaking. She is on Thorn Peak again, the night of the Destruction, but this time, she knows it will not end until the planet is nothing more than dust._

_And then light, and silence, and one last jolt as her body hits the ground. Blodgada slowly opens her eyes, but all she can see is green. Confused, she closes her eyes, takes a few more breaths, and pushes herself to a sitting position. The world makes a little more sense when she opens her eyes again. A field, covered in this green softness. In the distance, a golden city. She looks up at the sky, squinting at the nearly unbearable blue and white. The brightness is startling after the dim skies of Jotunheim, and she shades her eyes against the almost-unfamiliar colors as her heart slows._

_It is only a few minutes before they come for her. As the flat-bottomed skiffs bearing Odin’s sigil approach though the air, she stands and raises her hands, stretching her arms wide to make it clear she carries no weapon. She has been caught in hostile territory before. She knows the rules._

_“I am unarmed,” she calls out as the skiffs land, surrounding her. Soldiers jump out, weapons held at the ready. She has forgotten how small the Asgardians are; the tallest barely reaches her ribs. She has not forgotten the weapons, however, and she proceeds with care. A woman steps from the largest skiff, and Blodgada can see the soldiers’ deference. The leader, then. Blodgada addresses the woman directly.  “I am Blodgada, First Lieutenant to Byleistr, King of Jotunheim. I am unarmed. I must speak with the All-Father.”_

_“Bind it.” The woman’s voice is sharp, her eyes cold._

_Blodgada stands still as they fasten chains around her wrists and ankles, still looking the leader in the eye. “I am Blodgada of Jotunheim,” she repeats. “I must speak with the All-Father.”_

_“He is already aware of your arrival,” the woman says. “He will decide whether he will speak to you or not. It is not my concern.”_

_She nods. Anything further would look like desperation, and she cannot afford to show weakness in front of these badly needed allies. The soldiers herd her into a skiff, she stands patiently as they attach her chains to solid rings on the floor. She does not stumble or sway as the craft rises and banks; the endless aftershocks have taught her balance, and she appreciates the dignity it affords. Back straight, head held high, Blodgada enters the legendary city of Asgard. She has heard about this city all her life, about its beauty and majesty, but now that she is here she does not have the ability to judge if the legends are true. The city is before her, and she sees nothing. Instead, her only thought is a desperate hope that Byleistr will understand her message. She finds that she does not even care if he forgives her rashness; she will gladly face execution if it means there is the smallest chance for survival._

_She only hopes Byleistr will be ready._

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedcrack encouraged! happy wednesday, and thanks for being here! <3


	6. Chapter 6

_From:_ _Parker, Joshua H._

 _To:_ _Kindle, Aeslin G._

 _CC:_ _Laufeyson, Loki_

 _Subj:_ _L’anse aux Meadows [[encrypted]]_

_Do you know what’s worse than cold and dry? Cold and wet. Hell’s bells, I thought Banff was bad. We’re up on an island now, right off the probably-frozen Atlantic, at an old Viking settlement. Did you know there are non-tropical places in this world that don’t have a dry season? I didn’t, or at least, I didn’t believe it. I do now. I DO NOW. Also, fun fact: It’s possible to freeze your ass to a rock and not know about it until five minutes later when you try to get up and start walking again. Don’t ask me how I know this. I just do._

_By the way, when you go to order my headstone, please have “I voted for Maui, dammit” done in that really classy Uncial script Loki showed me at Christmas, will you? I was SO CLOSE. It came down to an arm wrestle. Bastard’s stronger than he looks. (He claims Maui was never explicitly on the table. We’re following Science. Had I won the arm wrestle, that conversation may have gone QUITE differently.)_

_My last paycheck went to waterproof gear. ALL the waterproof gear. I think I’ve given up on clothing completely. From here on out it’s just going to be alternating layers of long johns with a poncho on top, eight pairs of socks and galoshes. And trust me, it looks just as sexy as it sounds. Probably a good thing that we’re here on the off-season. Not so many tourists. (Is there actually an on-season around here? I remain skeptical.)_

_It’s wild here, though. It reminds me a little bit of Iceland, but with more ocean. I think I understand why the Vikings picked this place. I mean, don’t get me wrong. It’s cold and miserable, but only when I stop to think about it. More auroras, too. Most of my pictures aren’t turning out as well as I’d hoped they would; Selvig says it might be the anomalies messing with my phone, or I could just be haunted. He’s such a comfort, bless him._

_The hotel is great, too. We’ve basically got the run of the place since it’s so far out of season, and I have never been more grateful for a hot tub. It’s out on the balcony, which is awesome. Nice way to soak off a long day (or night) (or whatever the hell time it is now) of work.  Selvig will sometimes come hang out for a while, too. He’s got some great stories, including a few about Thor that are pretty spectacular. I didn’t know all the details about what went down in New Mexico, but he’s brought me into the loop on a few of the more hilarious moments. Some nights he’s a little off; he told me a bit ago that when the Other had him working on the Tesseract, he kind of thinks the Tesseract was working on him, too. He feels like it got into his brain. He tried to explain it, but it’s almost like he knows things that he has no reason to know, and he thinks he’s got more than a few memories that may or may not be his. Nothing too crazy, nothing like what he was going through right after New York, but it’s stuck around. It makes for some great stories. Have I mentioned lately that I’m glad he picked me? Because this is awesome. AWESOME._

_We’ve been keeping pretty weird hours, which is why I haven’t been calling. Every time I think about it, it’s either right during class or in the wee hours of the morning for you. I mean, I know it’s pretty even odds that at least one of you is up around that time, but I hate to interrupt your nights. They’re hard enough as it is._

_We seem to be moving generally east, though, so I think with luck we’ll end up in your neck of the woods at some point. Maybe back in Iceland. I hear the glaciers are amazing this time of year; maybe if I catch Selvig on a bad day, I’ll finally win an arm wrestle and we can take some time to sightsee, or even go skiing. I haven’t been in ages._

_Download’s complete; it’s back to sifting for me. Hope all is going well with the wedding planning. Drop me a line when you can. Love you both, you goofs. Stay warm._

_Cheers,_

_JP_

_***_

_From:_ _Banner, Bruce_

 _To:_ _Kindle, Aeslin G.; Laufeyson, Loki_

_Greetings from your point man in sunny Malibu. (I’ve attached a picture of the sun in case you haven’t seen it for a while. Don’t tell me that you have; I was there, remember? Also attached please find a diagram of why you should still be here and not there, courtesy of an artist who wishes to remain anonymous but whose name may or may not rhyme with Pony Park. He’s been asking when you’re coming back for a dress fitting. I told him that some people have actual jobs and that there’s a reason London has a fashion week, and in return, I got The Look. You know the one. Too bad it doesn’t work on me. Speaking of which, did you and Pepper’s dressmaker ever manage to get in the same room at once? She was… I think panicking might be too strong a word. Maybe. Will you email her?)_

_I’d also like to congratulate the two of you on having what has somehow managed simultaneously to be the simplest and most complicated guest list I have ever seen. I mean between the superspy who doesn’t_ actually _exist, the family of the groom, who ain’t exactly local, if you catch my drift, and two of the most powerful (and might I add overscheduled) people in the world, we’re going to be lucky if we can get them all in one place at one time. I think we can pull it off. I’ve given up on wedding invitations and switched to sticky notes. Trust me. They’re the wave of the future. Or something._

 _Also thanks for the color list. About the ribbons, though - I’ve been asked if we’re allowed to pick our own colors for those, or if they have to be in The Scheme. No wrong answer. I think Steve’s planning a craft night. Maybe we’ll all get drunk and weave our own ribbons. On second thought, maybe we should weave the ribbons, THEN get drunk. Except half of us can’t get drunk, and the other half can disrupt terror rings_ and _infiltrate secret high-level government summits while pleasantly buzzed, which, while impressive, kind of defeats the purpose. We’re a mess. You know that, right? All of us. I guess that’s why we make such a great team._

_Also also thanks for the final confirmation of place and date. The pictures you sent are amazing; Nat’s already looking for an excuse to scope the place out. It will take her all of ten minutes, since the island’s so small, but I’ve checked, and it should have everything we need. They’ve even got a few cottages right against the beach. I think we’re planning to snag them all. Stark offered to rent the whole island, but it is tourist season, and Pepper and I finally convinced him not to be That Kid. (He says if we get interrupted by hipsters on retreat, it won’t be his fault. I told him we’re bringing the Other Guy for a reason.)_

_Have you been able to get a message to Loki’s mom yet? This isn’t going to get much further if we don’t have an officiant. Barton’s offered to become an ordained minister just in case she doesn’t show. I told him I didn’t think it was necessary, but frankly I’m more surprised that he’s not one already? I mean, he has done some pretty deep cover missions, after all. Let me know when you hear from her, and if there’s anything else she’s going to need. We also need to get Thor his list of responsibilities as best man, including what he should bring with him. Will you be seeing him before the wedding, too?_

_Hope all is well with you. Eat your vegetables, take your vitamins, and don’t give me that look. I know you two._

_Appropriate tokens of affection,_

_Bruce_

_***_

_From:_ _Parker, Joshua H._

 _To:_ _Kindle, Aeslin G._

 _Re:_ _Sólheimajökull_ _Jingleheimer Schmidt [[encrypted]]_

 _Who called it? Whooooo called it? This guy. We’re back in Iceland - landed in Reykjavik a few days ago. You remember Gunnarson, don’t you? (And good lord above, who wouldn’t?) He picked us up at the airport, dropped us off a couple of hours away. He’s still keeping busy chasing ley lines and waving crystals and being lactose intolerant, apparently, but we weren’t sure who else to call for a ride. We’ve gotten ourselves situated now though, car and everything, so thank goodness we’re not going to need him anymore. He says hello, by the way, and for everyone’s sake, I’m paraphrasing. I’m also supposed to chastise you for losing his number, his email_ and _his Skype handle, as well as letting you know that his offer still stands. (Do I even want to know what the offer was? I don’t, right? I don’t. There was a lot of eyebrow wiggling going on. Like, a SERIOUS amount of eyebrows. He’s something else; I think I can now safely say that I understand why you wanted us to blow up your lab coat after it was in the same room with him for more than thirty seconds. JEEpers McGee, woman. How do you FIND these people? And by These People, I mean Not Me, or Anyone Who Might Possibly Be Reading Over Your Shoulder Right This Second.) Anyways, I was supposed to give all of Stigur’s contact information to you again, but damned if I didn’t lose it almost immediately when we got to the hotel. WHAT A HELLACIOUS SHAME (but what are bridesmen of honor for, am I right? I’ve got your back, sweets. Don’t you worry.)._

_It’s really strange being back in Iceland, even if we’re not really anywhere near Keldur; we’re off in another direction. The time changes are playing merry hell with my brain; I’ve had pretty bad insomnia. I would sort through data, but it doesn’t exactly lull me to sleep. I might start running again. That always helps. I wonder if Selvig is a runner? I’ve never thought to ask him. I thought about the guitar, but again. Playing at three in the morning doesn't exactly make friends, know what I mean?_

Any _ways, back to the insomnia. The other night I just lay there thinking for the longest time, and it occurred to me. What if I hadn’t picked up the phone when Coulson called me? I didn’t recognize the number, and half of me wanted to just stay asleep. Talk about one little thing changing the course of history. I’d probably still be at the Academy, blissfully unaware of well, pretty much everything._

_I wonder sometimes what that would be like. I’d never have met Nat or Stark or Loki, and you would have just been a great mentor and kind-of-friend from my intern days that I will never ever in a thousand years admit to having a teensy tiny crush on. I wouldn’t know what it’s like being chased through the woods of California by a set of superspies or that Thor screams like a little girl when properly startled. I wouldn’t know that Clint likes Crunchberries and that Nat sometimes cheats at poker, but only when she knows she’ll get caught. I wouldn’t know Stark’s favorite pancake topping or what it’s like to get pasted by the god of mischief every freaking time we play Settlers of Catan. (You’d think I’d learn, and I still maintain a reckoning is coming. You just wait.) And it all started with one phone call from a man I barely knew existed until that moment. I miss Coulson. I worry sometimes that I don’t have a right to miss him, because I didn’t know him well enough. But I do. Or maybe I miss what could have been. Is that weird? Or even possible?_

_I’ve occasionally been emailing Maris and Westinghouse. I started soon after the dust from New York settled a little bit - you know, when I was on medical leave at my parents’ house, and you and Loki were traipsing the countryside trying to find the world’s second largest ball of twine? Anyways, they’re both back at the Academy full-time, happy as clams (except that Scott has terrible claustrophobia now). They were surprised when I decided to quit SHIELD, and I didn’t really have a good reason to tell them why I did it. I’m glad I did, though. I feel like if I had stayed, my life would be… I don’t know. Less? Does that make me sound like a jerk? I kind of feel like a jerk for even writing it. It’s just that this world is so weird and crazy and awesome in the literal sense and I would never have known, and now it’s like I can’t go back, you know?_

_I feel like I’m rambling, and I’m sorry. Nights in wintertime are really long when you can’t sleep. I guess you already know that, though. Thanks for the care package; it got there the day before we left Newfoundland. It looks like Loki took the post-Valentine’s day chocolate sales very seriously this year (and just in case you’re being a creeper and reading over her shoulder, thank you THANK you for the Toblerone and the assortment of Cadbury bars, you majestic bastard. You are a GIFT. A GIFT.). I’m also basically going to marry the socks you sent while having a torrid side affair with these fricking amazing gloves. Are they how you survived Faroe? I feel as though I should have asked you sooner, or you should have remembered sooner. For a couple of geniuses, we really are exceptionally stupid on occasion._

_Selvig’s up, so it’s off for coffee and loading up the rental. We’ve named her Marceline the Vampire Queen - she’s old and grey and completely badass. I want one. Bruce also sent me an invitation to what appears to be a Captain America sponsored craft night. I’m jealous as hell, but there’s Science to be done! I should learn to tat lace for my ribbon or something; there’s got to be something I can do in the wee hours of the morning besides stare at the ceiling. Maybe I’ll check and see if Bruce has any YouTube videos about lacemaking. You can’t tell me he doesn’t know how._

_Smooches,_

_JP_

_***_

Parker braced himself as another gust of wind swept across the boulder-strewn plain. Shifting his pack and the collapsible poles that peeked out of it, he looked at the sensor half-buried in the melting snow at his feet. He crouched down to make a slight adjustment, then pulled his data pad from one of the innumerable pockets that dotted his parka and triggered a connection. His brow knit as data flowed from the sensor to the screen, and he pushed the scarf away from his face to make sure of what he was seeing. With a sigh, he pulled the sensor from the snow, then came to his feet and trudged back through the cold, late March day to the SUV parked near the edge of the field. Selvig stood with one foot perched on the rear bumper, fiddling with one of the sensors they’d retrieved earlier that morning; he glanced up as Parker neared.

“Anything?” he asked.

“Too much,” replied the younger man, tilting his screen where Selvig could see it. “Worse than the last batch.”

Selvig set his sensor down in the open cargo area and sighed gently, turning to the open laptop balanced amid the rest of the field equipment. “I was afraid of that.”

“I don’t get it,” Parker said, carefully nestling his own sensor into its designated section in the foam lined case. “Did they get rattled in the flight? We did hit some pretty bad turbulence, and they’ve been acting all weird since we got here. Are we doing something wrong? Am _I_ doing something wrong?”

A tiny grin touched Selvig’s face as he skimmed the data that was rapidly downloading from Parker’s device. “I’m not going to fire you, lad, if that’s what you’re getting at. It’s the equipment; I should have realized it sooner. We’ve adapted seismographic sensors to track these anomalies, and this place is nowhere near as quiet as Canada was.”

A moment’s thought, and then Parker nodded. “Geothermal activity. Microquakes. Glaciers. Volcanoes. Too much background noise?”

“Exactly.” Selvig typed rapidly; the images on the screen cleared fractionally. “I think with a few adjustments, they’ll be right as rain, but that’s not something we can really work on out here. Once I figure out the correct settings for this area, fixing the individual sensors won’t take long at all. We can cut out a couple of hours early this afternoon and get a head start on it.”

Parker looked up at the sky, where the sun was beginning its long march back to the horizon. He turned back to Selvig, nodding his thanks as the other man handed him a bottle of water. “So in the meantime?”

Selvig gestured at the laptop screen. “It’s kind of a mess,” he admitted, pulling up another set of measurements, “but I want to say that you might have gotten a hit on this one. I think we can rig the poles to cut out most of the background noise if you’re willing to do some walking.” He sent the information to his own data pad as he retrieved a drink for himself, then closed the laptop and the sensor case in two smooth motions. “Interested in doing a little triangulation?”

Parker grinned as he readjusted his scarf, enthusiasm bubbling to the surface. “Absolutely.”

“Good.” Selvig didn’t bother to hide his own smile as he picked up his pack and firmly shut the cargo door. “Off we go, then.”

***

Triangulation was the term they’d settled on, even though between the two data points and the sensor fields, triangles had very little to do with things. Parker preferred to call it _amoebaulation_ based on the wobbly, overlapping shapes that showed up on a successful hunt, but it hadn’t caught on as well as he’d hoped.

Selvig parked himself near the edge of the field, wedging the light, sturdy pole he’d retrieved from Parker’s backpack against the base of one of the glacial boulders. Parker scanned his data pad for a moment, then tucked it away and jogged in a wide arc around what, with luck, would be another gravitational anomaly. If they managed to confirm that they were here in Iceland, as well, it would be a good sign. Of what, he still wasn’t completely sure, but Selvig seemed to be getting closer to a full theory with each discovery, and Parker was content to wait. He’d learned early on that Selvig played his theoretical cards close to his chest, and the scientist had confessed over beers and wings one night in Calgary that it had only gotten worse since he’d tangled with SHIELD in New Mexico and the Chitauri in New York. Knowledge was power. Knowledge was precious. Knowledge, on occasion, was dangerous, and it was easily stolen and twisted. Even having spent only a couple of years at SHIELD, Parker understood. Selvig had promised to let him know when he had a full theory, and so Parker respected the other man’s choice.

He came to a halt several meters away from Selvig, still within shouting distance, but barely. Tucking his device back into his parka, he lifted his hand to let the other know he was ready. An answering motion from Selvig, and then Parker pushed his sensor pole through the snow at his feet and rested it on the ground beneath.

A few moments passed while Selvig made a few adjustments to the data pad in his hand, then looked up.

“Anything?” Parker called across the landscape.

“Nothing concrete. Come north about two meters.”

Parker did as requested, repeating his actions. “Now?”

“Nope. Keep going.”

Unable to keep a small grin from his face, the biologist moved on. “Is this it?”

“Come back about half a meter. Southwest.”

The grin widened as Parker planted his sensor. “Is this it?”

“Nope. A bit east, I think.”

A short, jogging shuffle. “So have you heard the one about the two blind guys trying to solve a Rubik’s cube?”

Selvig looked up from his display as Parker thumped the base of his sensor next to a broken stone. He couldn’t see his face clearly, but the younger man knew that somewhere beneath the orange and white knit cap, Selvig’s brow was furrowed. “The who?”

“Never mind. Is this it?”

At the shake of Selvig’s head, Parker took hold of the sensor, pulling it out of the slush as he took a few steps in another direction. He stopped mid step at Selvig’s shout, the pole resting on his shoulder at an awkward angle.

“There!” The yell came again. “Don’t move!”

Leg already beginning to cramp, Parker couldn’t help his laugh. “Seriously?” He tipped his head a little to the side; Selvig hadn’t torn his gaze from his display and presumably had no idea what was happening. After what seemed like an eternity, Selvig looked up and seemed to notice Parker’s predicament. He chuckled a little.

“Keep the top of the pole steady, and you should be fine. The sensor’s in an ideal position.”

An answering thumbs-up as Parker wormed through a series of poses meant to keep the tip stable while firmly planting the base. He pressed the catch along the shaft, releasing the network of legs that would keep the whole thing in place.

“Still good?”

“Perfect,” came the reply. “Starting the scan now. Doesn’t look to be a big one, but stay sharp.”

“Will do,” Parker answered. Most of the anomalies had been too high to be accessible, and for the most part, they had been reduced to taking scans and peering hopefully into the sky.  This had the potential to be a rare treat, and so he slowly began working his way through the empty space between the two sensors. It wasn’t the first time he had, but he always felt a vague sort of panic in the moment before he started his explorations. They had yet to have any problems, but there was always a first time.

After a few moments of studying his readout, Selvig left his own sensor where it was and walked in a lazy arc toward Parker. They stood together for a moment, then Selvig pointed. “About three meters that way.”

“Does it seem stable?” Parker asked as they moved carefully forward.

“Seemed to be,” Selvig agreed. He stopped abruptly, then put a hand on the sleeve of Parker’s coat. His voice was hushed. “There.”

It was barely visible in the full light of the afternoon; there was almost nothing to be seen. The faintest rippling of air hung roughly a meter from the ground. Little bigger than a pair of outstretched hands, it didn’t so much as cast a shadow on the snow below it. Parker went another pace forward, eyes still on the wavering image, then stepped back, eyebrows knit. A rock that had been in his line of sight reappeared; he moved the same distance toward the anomaly. The stone disappeared almost completely once more. Only by squinting could he see the barest outline; he heard Selvig repeat his movements.

“I’ll be damned,” breathed Selvig.

“That makes two of us,” Parker whispered reverently back.

Selvig fumbled at the pocket of his parka, pulling his data pad out of a pocket and yanking a glove off with his teeth in the same movement. He began to make rapid notations, and Parker reached up and absently took the woolen mitten from Selvig’s mouth while still staring at the anomaly. Selvig muttered his thanks as he continued with his observations and photos, and Parker made a noncommittal noise back as he found his attention drawn to something that lay mostly buried in the snow a couple of meters away.

Stooping for a closer look, Parker used Selvig’s glove to gently brush snow from atop the creature. It was clearly dead, though with the constant wind that blew  from one end of the field to the other, it was almost impossible to tell how long it had been there. Obviously frozen, too, and Parker shifted more snow away to try to get a better look at it. Engrossed by what he saw, he barely heard Selvig come up behind him.  

“What’s that?”

It took a moment for Parker to register the words, and his voice was thoughtful when he responded.

“I’m not entirely sure.”

“Hmm.” Selvig sat on his heels, studying the thing as well. “Too bad we don’t have a biologist around here to attempt an identification.”

Parker snorted gently as he searched around; not finding what he needed, he settled for prodding the thing gently with Selvig’s glove. “ _Astro_ biology, and quit it.”

“Almost looks like a squirrel or something,” the other man observed, but Parker was already shaking his head.

“No squirrels around here,” Parker replied. At Selvig’s intrigued look, he merely shrugged. “A Chitauri scout crashed about an hour northwest of here a few months before the Invasion. It’s how I know Stigur. We spent quite a while afterward up to our eyeballs in data packets from Iceland’s version of SHIELD. Flora, fauna, the works. Trust me. There aren’t any squirrels.” He handed Selvig’s glove back, then stopped abruptly and leaned forward. “And there _sure_ as hell aren’t any with five legs. I’m guessing it was six at one point, but something found this thing before we did.” He glanced back past a shocked Selvig to where the anomaly hung in the air, less solid than a mirage. “We’ve been checking the radiation on these things, right?”

“Yes.” Selvig looked suspiciously at his glove, then sighed and shoved it into a pocket. “The levels are low. Surprisingly so, in fact. You’re thinking mutation?”

“I don’t know _what_ I’m thinking. This is strange.”

Selvig’s voice was doubtful. “Should we take it back with us?”

“Much as I hate to say it,” Parker answered, reaching into his pocket for his data pad and swiping until he found the camera, “I don’t think it’s a great idea. First off, we’ve got no way to transport it, unless you’re planning to keep it in your pocket. We’re a ways from the hotel, and I don’t know how fast it will break down at room temperature. We didn’t even bring the cooler.” He sighed in frustration as he began snapping photos and making notes. “Second, if it _is_ a mutation based on radiation from one of these anomalies, I’m not sure we should be hauling it around anyways, and there’s the very real possibility that it is just a freak of nature. Weirder things have happened around here, though now that I think about it, probably not many.” He smirked a little. “Third, I’ve got absolutely _nothing_ to do a proper necropsy with. No lab, no tools, nothing. This was supposed to be physics, not biology.” A puff of air passed his lips, the cloud rising in the chilly afternoon. “What I wouldn’t give for one of SHIELD’s sample kits right about now.”

“Didn’t you say that Iceland’s got their own SHIELD now? We could contact them.” Selvig’s voice was hesitant, and Parker gave him a long, level look.

“No,” he said firmly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, either. We don't need to get them involved.”

Selvig nodded gratefully after a moment, and Parker went back to his camera. After documenting as much as he could, he stood, brushing his hands on his legs. Selvig followed suit.

“Let’s get the rest of what we need, then head back to the hotel,” Selvig said. “I think we’ve got a long few days ahead of us.”

“Yeah,” Parker replied before turning back to the edge of the field to retrieve his sensor pole. “I would have to agree.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedcrack appreciated! we would especially like feedback on the original characters if possible. :) 
> 
> also extra points to those who get the obscure movie reference.
> 
> love you all! happy wednesday, and thanks for being here!


	7. Chapter 7

The soldiers had taken Blodgada deep under the palace, to a prison cell. There didn’t seem to be any other prisoners, in this section at least, for which she was grateful. The tiny room was clean and quiet, and as long as she did not bother the transparent, magic-laced wall sections that served as doors, there was nothing to block her view. Even then, the strange pattern that flickered across the opening at her touch was oddly beautiful. She smirked gently as she stroked her fingers across the invisible surface, watching the glittering lace curl behind her fingers. Even their dungeons were drenched in gold.

The cell itself, however, was much too small. Only a few paces across, and she could not stand without her head hitting the ceiling. With nothing better to do, she lay on the floor with her hands behind her head; lying on the too-short bed would have looked foolish, not to mention giving Blodgada a delightful set of leg cramps. The Asgardians were clearly not prepared for Jotun prisoners. She wondered if this was because the Asgardians knew they would never be capable of taking a Jotun prisoner, because they were expected to kill all Jotuns on sight, or because of simple oversight. Ultimately she decided it didn’t matter, and with the seasoned pragmatism of a veteran soldier, she decided to get some rest.

The sound of footsteps woke Blodgada from her light sleep, and she was on her feet well before the soldiers were in sight. It was that woman again, probably some sort of guard captain. Blodgada recognized the other soldiers as well. New watchers at the observatory had often complained that citizens of other realms looked like every other citizen on that realm, but centuries of experience had trained her eye. This was definitely the same group from earlier.

“How did you come here?” the captain asked sharply, placing herself directly in front of where Blodgada stood waiting.

Interrogation was nothing new to Blodgada. Standing as straight as she could, she responded.

“I am Blodgada, First Lieutenant to Byleistr, King of Jotunheim. I come with a message for Odin All-Father.”

“So you said,” snapped the woman, “but that was not my question. How did you, a Jotun, come here to Asgard?”

Blodgada cocked an eyebrow. “When your king gives you an order, do you not make every effort to carry it out?”

“Heimdall says neither he nor the Bifrost was involved,” the guard captain said as she paced back and forth. “We have also confirmed that the Casket of Winters has not been taken, and could not have been used.”

A sudden blossom of rage flared, but Blodgada was able to push it down before it reached her face. _And if it had not been_ **_taken_** _,_ she thought, _we could have used it sooner, and countless Jotuns would still be alive._ But this was not the time. Her voice was steady as she slowly and clearly repeated her words. “I am Blodgada, First Lieutenant to Byleistr, King of Jotunheim. I come with a message for Odin All-Father.”

Not bothering to hide her irritation, the woman signaled to her soldiers. Blodgada tensed as the golden lacing of the cell wall disappeared. The soldiers entered, arranging themselves behind her and on both sides, leaving an opening blocked only by the guard captain.

“Heimdall has also confirmed that Byleistr, King of Jotunheim, has a lieutenant named Blodgada who matches your description. We are here to escort you to quarters more suitable for the emissary of a king. You will, of course, forgive our caution.” The last words seemed to force themselves past the woman’s lips, and Blodgada wondered if she truly meant them. Likely not, from the faint look of distaste that still touched her face.

“Of course,” said Blodgada as she stepped down. She understood caution. She would have done the same. The comment about the Casket, however, would take a little longer to forgive.

***

On the second day, she was summoned by Frigga.

Blodgada was standing at the window when the guards came for her. This room was much better than the cell; the ceiling was more than high enough for her to stand, if not stretch. The bed was larger, if still not quite large enough for true comfort. There were plenty of blankets, as though she would need blankets on this over-warm realm. Even now, the room was too hot for her liking, and she had come to the window in search of a cooling breeze. She soon realized that despite the wide opening, there was no movement of air. Granted, the wall was thick enough that her outstretched arm would not extend into the open air, but she could see the leaves trembling on the vines that twined along the edges of the arch, and she would have thought some air would find its way in. She wondered idly if the window was even real, or whether the scene outside was merely an elaborate illusion to hide the fact that she was still completely surrounded by thick stone walls. She was looking for something to toss out into the sunlight when the guard entered without knocking.

“Frigga, Queen of Asgard, requests the company of the Lady Blodgada of Jotunheim. If you will be kind enough to follow me.”

 _Lady._ She smiled inwardly as she walked with the contingent of guards down the corridor. It seemed the Asgardians had confirmed many things in the time they’d had to study her; she hadn’t lived at court for centuries. Her mother had been a distant cousin to Laufey’s wife, and as a child Blodgada had played run-and-hide games in the caverns of Laufey’s palace along with Byleistr, Helblindi, and children of the other courtiers. As soon as she had come of age, she’d chosen to become a soldier, and after the wars Laufey had assigned her to head the intelligence division based at the observatory. No one had bothered to question her absence from court. She was well out of the line of succession and had no real obligation to stay. Few now even remembered her kinship to the royal family; she was an advisor to the king, and that was enough. But technically, she was still part of the royal court, and she was impressed that the Asgardians knew. She also recognized that despite the polite formality, this was not a request.

She knew who Frigga was, of course. She even thought she remembered seeing the queen of Asgard once as a child, but had been too young at the time to remember the circumstances now. _The Valkyrie Queen,_ she recalled. _Is she mostly Valkyrie or mostly queen?_

Queen, it turned out. The guards led her to a covered veranda, where the queen was seated at stone table. She rose as Blodgada entered. “Welcome,” she said with a smile. “Would you do me the honor of joining me?”

Both the table and the queen’s chair were raised on stone blocks, but another chair stood vacant. The guards stayed at the door as Blodgada walked to the table, which was perfectly placed. It was far enough from the door for the guards to seem unobtrusive, but close enough that they could protect their queen if necessary. Frigga motioned Blodgada to her chair, then sat herself. Attendants appeared with trays of food and beverages, set them on the table, and withdrew to the walls without a word.

“May I offer you some refreshment?” Frigga asked. “The tea is quite good, or there is wine if you’d rather.”

“I’m sure whatever you’re having would be lovely,” Blodgada said, trying to keep the wariness out of her voice.

“Tea, then,” smiled Frigga. She poured a fragrant brown drink into two cups placed the same distance from Blodgada, then gestured for her to choose.  Blodgada felt slightly reassured. She had not really expected Frigga to poison her, but she recognized that it was a gesture of goodwill and selected a cup. Frigga took the other cup, dropped a white cube into it, then stirred with a delicate spoon. After a moment, she took a sip. “I must say you’ve caught us by surprise. I’m afraid we weren’t quite prepared for Jotun guests. I hope your room is acceptable?”

“Yes, thank you.” The beverage had a delicate scent, but when she tried it, the scent seemed to be all there was. Tea, apparently, meant pleasant-smelling hot water. She scrambled for something to say. “My room has a wonderful view.”

Frigga seemed pleased at that. “I thought you’d like to be able to see the mountains. I’ve only been to Jotunheim once, long ago, but I will never forget the mountains.”

 _The mountains that aren’t there anymore?_ Blodgada stopped the words before they ever left her lips. Much as she had with the guard captain, she quickly forced the thought down, choosing to say nothing instead. She wasn’t sure how much Frigga knew about the situation on Jotunheim, and she did not want to start a discussion of the problem with an outsider before she had even spoken to Odin. She picked up her cup, decided the flavor must be in the white cubes, and dropped one in herself, stirring with the tiny spoon as Frigga had. Another sip. Pleasant-smelling, sweet hot water.

“Please help yourself to whatever you like,” said Frigga after the silence stretched a moment too long. “I wasn’t sure what would appeal to you, so I tried to offer a variety.”

“Thank you,” said Blodgada again. She watched as Frigga put a selection of foods on her own plate, then took one of each of those. She wasn’t concerned about poison, not really anymore, but she didn’t recognize a lot of the foods offered, and this way she could follow the queen’s example of how to eat. She had been at court long enough to know that some things were eaten with fingers, some with a knife, but away for too long to remember, or really care, which was which. She was considering a pile of powdery bread circles when her eyes locked on a small, rough-skinned purple fruit. She picked it up. The spicy smell was so familiar that she could barely speak past the lump in her throat. “I didn’t realize you could grow _heggr_ here.”

“Not easily,” said Frigga. “We have to grow them high in the mountains. That one came from an orchard on the mountain outside your window. Since they’re not native, I’m not sure they’re quite the same quality as the ones you are used to.”

“It looks like a good one,” Blodgada said absently. It looked beautiful. She hadn’t had a _heggr_ in three years. No one had. The _heggr_ orchards had been among the first crops to die. She placed it almost reverently on her plate; it seemed a sacrilege to eat it now. The woman across from her probably had no idea how precious it was. How precious all of this food was. _She’s probably not even hungry,_ thought Blodgada as Frigga took a dainty bite, and the idea rankled.

“I can arrange to have more brought in, if you like. It may take a few days. How long will you be staying with us?”

“That's not really my decision,” said Blodgada. She dragged her eyes away from the fruit sitting accusingly on her plate to see the Queen's quizzical expression. _I can't tell her I'm stranded, not yet,_ she thought.

“I cannot leave until I have given my message to the All-Father.”

“Of course,” Frigga said smoothly. “But I too am not sure how long that would be. The All-Father has many demands on his time, and many petitioners. Perhaps I can put in a word for you. If you could tell me the nature of this message…”

 _Petitioner._ Blodgada inwardly snorted. _I represent a dying people, and to her, I am a mere petitioner._

“My apologies,” she said, shorter than she intended. “My business is with Odin.”

“I understand. I’m sure you were given a specific mission to go straight to the All-Father. From what the Lady Sif tells me, you seem to be quite a high-level Lieutenant; you must uphold your office.” Frigga paused for a moment. “Would you prefer we call you Lady Blodgada or Lieutenant Blodgada? It would seem both apply, and I would not want to show disrespect by using the wrong one.”

“I’ve been a lieutenant much longer than I was ever a lady,” she said, glad to at last have a topic she felt comfortable discussing. “And given the mission, it’s probably best I keep to that.”

“Forgive my curiosity, but would that be the same Lieutenant Blodgada who fought at the Battle of Karnsa?”

So much for comfort. Her shock at Frigga’s knowledge was second only to her irritation that she would bring it up. Blodgada met the other woman’s eyes. “I do what is necessary to serve my king.”

“As any Lieutenant must.” Frigga’s voice was maddeningly calm as she poured herself another cup of scented nothing. “I remember Byleistr, as well. He seemed like a clear-minded young man, and I’m sure he has become a good king.”

Blodgada did not realize she had forgotten her cup until a thin stream of tea splashed onto her plate. She set the cup down just gently enough not to break it. “You have been in contact with Byleistr?” Surely he would have said something. Surely he would have tried to negotiate before now.

“No,” said Frigga, smiling. “As I said, I went to Jotunheim once before, long ago. He was still a boy. We thought it strange that a child would be in the council room, but Laufey said that it was the place of the crown prince to attend all important meetings, negotiations and other functions so that he would be able to step in as king without hesitation. Byleistr was young, but he seemed to understand his duty.” A strange, slightly melancholy look flitted across Frigga’s face and was gone within seconds. Blodgada chose to overlook it.

Blodgada nodded. That was one of the ongoing responsibilities of a crown prince; it was also one of the reasons Byleistr got so frustrated with Helblindi, who didn’t seem to fully appreciate the details of his office. “Byleistr does take his duty seriously,” she agreed quietly. He had _always_ taken it seriously, leaving games the instant he was called for, even if his team was about to win.

Frigga paused, and then tapped the stone tabletop thoughtfully. “If I may say, you remind me of another Jotun from that visit. Your markings, your manner of speech. Tell me, do you know a woman named Rán?”

Nothing should surprise her now. Blodgada picked up the fruit again and answered quietly in order to hide her irritation. “My mother.”

Frigga nodded. “I thought so. I knew your mother, long ago.”

 _Enough._ Blodgada pushed herself back from the table and stood. Her voice was cold. “You did not know my mother. You may have met her. You may have spoken with her. But you did not _know_ her.”

A voice from behind her; one of the guards near the door spoke. “You presume to speak to the All-Mother thus?”

Blodgada did not even bother to turn around; she did not take her eyes from Frigga’s. “You presume to fight the All-Mother’s battles for her? I am quite certain she is more than capable of speaking for herself.” She heard her voice rising, but she could not be troubled to care. This had gone on long enough. Blodgada rested her hands on the edge of the table and leaned forward fractionally. The guards behind her fidgeted; she was sure a few were going for their weapons, but Frigga held up a hand. “Are you truly the Valkyrie Queen of which I’ve heard so much? Are you truly a warrior? Or are you one who hides behind smiles and drinks and poisonous words while others do your dirty work? You do have good spies, I’ll admit, All-Mother, but you do not know my mother, you do not know my king, and you do not know me. You know _nothing._ My business is with Odin,” she hissed, “and we are finished here.”

“Not only Odin, I think,” Frigga said calmly, picking up her teacup once more.

The words hit Blodgada like a physical blow. _She knows. She knows the Traitor is a part of this. She knows what he did._ The shock, the betrayal, the anger, the grief all rushed through Blodgada, and she knew that she could not be in this woman’s presence for one more minute. She turned her back on the Queen of Asgard and stalked out of the room and down the corridor, not bothering to see if the guards were keeping up with her long strides. _How much do you really know, All-Mother? Do you have any idea of how many of us have died? Do you know why your son betrayed my king and destroyed my people? Do you know how badly I want to see him dead? To hear his reasons, and then to stain my hands and face with his blood? I’ll use his remains to fertilize the_ heggr _orchards. Maybe then we will get back some of what we lost._

She found her room without trouble; she entered and shut the door harder than she should have. The crash made the furniture rattle, and she winced. She hadn’t meant to slam the door. That was the act of a child, not a grown warrior. With a long, weary sigh, Blodgada sank to the bed, resting her forehead in one hand. _I came here as an emissary, and I behaved like an angry child. Forgive me, Byleistr._ She took a few deep breaths before rising and pacing the room. _I have insulted the All-Mother. I have embarrassed my king. I have ruined any chance of reparations._ She stood before the window. _I am sorry._ She took a deep breath, then in a final fit of pique, she slammed her fist against the wall beside the window. There was a gentle humming sound and a flicker of gold lacing across the opening. Blodgada sighed again and turned away.

On the third day, she was brought before the All-Father.

***

It was late at night when Odin had the Jotun brought before him. Not into the throne room, but in one of the larger council chambers. A few torches lit the room, leaving most of the space in darkness. The only people present were his most trusted Einherjar, along with Sif and the soldiers who had found it in the first place. No one else needed to know that there was such a creature in the palace, and he could trust those present not to ask why it was here.

 _You know why it is here._ He could almost hear Skuld’s laugh.

But he didn’t, not really. Perhaps it was here to petition for the return of the Casket. Perhaps to kill him. Perhaps to tell him Loki had raised an army.

Nearly endless scenarios. Runes, rattling in a cup.

The guard’s voice was loud in the silence. “Lady Blodgada Ránsdottir, First Lieutenant to Byleistr, son of Laufey and King of Jotunheim. Stand now before Odin All-Father.”

Fancy titles, but when it came into view, it looked like all the other Jotuns he had seen. Their ridged, bony faces were crude. Their proportions grotesque. Their size nearly obscene. It towered over the soldiers surrounding it, taller even than the torches on the walls. It blocked the light from each one briefly as it passed.

_A shadow blots out the sun._

Odin shook his head infinitesimally, trying to dislodge the dream as the Jotun approached to stand before him. Normally, he would have been looking down at petitioners, and he found himself disoriented upon looking up into the sharp, cold face. He had not seen hair on a Jotun before, and this one had a wild mass in a garish red color that only highlighted the freakish scarlet eyes. He did not flinch, but the effort that it took surprised him. Wanting the meeting to be over, he brusquely straightened.

“Speak.”

Its accent was not so harsh that he could pretend not to understand; it merely inclined its head fractionally as it did as Odin had commanded.

“Byleistr, King of Jotunheim, sends greetings to the All-Father,” it said.

Odin had no interest in formalities. “You have a message. You may give it to me now.”

A slight bow that brought the creature’s head nearly level with his own. “Byleistr, King of Jotunheim, would speak with the All-Father.”

The creature remained bowed, and after a moment he realized there was nothing more forthcoming. “And?”

It stood tall once more, its head again higher than his. “That is my message. Byleistr would speak with you.”

This was ridiculous. A waste of time, a waste of manpower. This so-called Jotun king was clearly a fool. Odin’s voice was laced heavily with condescension, and he didn’t bother correcting it. “You came all the way here to tell me _that_?”

A gentle shrug. “I do as my king requires.”

“If that was truly all he wanted,” Odin growled, “why did he not come to me himself? Why send an underling?”

“Byleistr has much to attend to,” the Jotun said, refusing to rise to the bait. “As always, he is busy serving his people. It was decided that I could more easily leave my responsibilities, and it would seem that it was a good decision on his part. Three days is a long time for a king to be idle.”

Was the frost giant frowning? Smirking? It was too difficult to read the misshapen face. “I, too, have many responsibilities,” he said, immediately regretting the petulance.

“As you say,” it replied coolly. “There are many duties that demand a king’s attention, but you of all rulers will understand that the most important thing a king must do is to look after his people. _All_ of his people.”

Odin bristled, unable to confirm his suspicions of the creature’s intent. “Very well. You may return to your king and tell him his message was delivered.” He would not promise to meet the Jotun king’s demands, not without due consideration. It would not do to be pushed around by these monsters.

“Unfortunately,” it said, bowing again as it broke into his thoughts, “I cannot.”

“You cannot.”

This was unacceptable. From the moment it had appeared in the fields outside the city, Heimdall had been watching the creature. The fact that the Watcher did not know _how_ the thing had crossed the realms, or how it had managed to slip so near to the palace unnoticed was troubling. Odin needed to know how the creature had done it. That information alone would be much more important than any message it might carry, especially a message so pointless that it could be little better than a transparent, clumsy trap. He studied the creature as a thought bloomed. Loki. The boy could not so much as _smell_ magic of any sort anymore, but his knowledge remained. Were they somehow working with Loki, or they had found a way to travel on their own? Odin suddenly could not decide which might be worse.

“No, All-Father,” it answered, and then hesitated briefly. “I am to accompany you when you meet Byleistr, as a gesture of goodwill.”

“Goodwill.”

It nodded. “When I come with you, I will be able to show that I am unharmed. Byleistr will be assured of your favorable intentions, and at the same time, you will be secure knowing that you have a...” It trailed off.

“A hostage.”

The creature shrugged. “I was trying to think of a better word.”

_A hostage, or a spy? Perhaps even a snare?_

Odin clenched his hand around Gungnir. He well knew the benefits of a hostage, but in this case the risk was too great. The creature could not stay. Even if its intentions were good, there were already too many murmured rumors about a frost giant in the palace. Sif and Frigga had done their best to stop the wagging tongues, but every hour the thing remained would raise more questions. Many in the palace knew about the frost giants’ incursion into the vault during Thor’s coronation. Most had heard about Loki’s fall defending Asgard from a full-scale invasion. Few knew the extent of Loki’s actions, and even fewer about Laufey’s death in Odin’s chamber, but any speculation at all was still more than the All-Father could afford. Nor could he afford to remain ignorant of how the thing had gotten to Asgard in the first place. Nothing good could come from the creature staying in Asgard; Odin lifted his chin.

“I order you to return to Jotunheim immediately.”

Did its eyes narrow? “My apologies, All-Father, but I cannot,” it repeated.

“You would defy me in favor of this Byleistr?”

Its voice was calm and relentless. “Byleistr is my king.”

“And I? Am I not the All-Father?”

“So I had thought.” The giant spoke coldly, and barely loud enough for him to hear. “But it would seem that instead, I have found the Father of all but Jotunheim.”

Odin stood; Gungnir was pointed at the creature in an instant. The Einherjar were slower to react, not having heard the monster's treason, but seeing their king, they immediately drew weapons and surrounded the Jotun. It did not so much as flinch. Surrounded by blades held by the finest soldiers in all the realms, and the thing's arrogance would not even allow it to falter. How dare it not feel threatened? How dare it even come into this room? Into this realm? What made it think it had any right to be in Odin’s presence?

_I do as my king requires._

Odin paused. Its king. This was a Jotun emissary, sent from the Jotun king. Allowing its disrespect would be a sign of weakness, but killing it would be an act of war.

“Return it to its cell,” he said, without looking at Sif.

“Your majesty,” Sif said hesitantly. “The Queen has given it a room near...”

“To its _cell_.” Odin repeated through gritted teeth. The creature bowed, not looking into his eyes, then turned and walked away as it had entered, back straight and circled by guards. As it had before, the giant blocked the torchlight as it left the room, and after it was gone, the darkness seemed that much deeper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedcrack appreciated! happy wednesday and love to you all! <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And while you're outside looking in  
>  Describing what you see  
> Remember what you're staring at is me_

The cell was still too small. Blodgada had pushed the bed into one corner to serve as a chair, but she still had to lie on the floor to stretch out properly. Floor space was becoming scarce, however. She lay on several layers of the inevitable blankets, with cushions for makeshift pillows. It was far more comfortable than she was used to after having spent so long in the wastes, and she was grateful to whomever had sent them. Blodgada had a good idea who that might have been. It would be the same person who had sent down the tall stacks of books, the bowls of fruit and the tiny prism that, when pressed, would project a faint sprinkling of stars on the ceiling after the prison lights had been extinguished for the evening. Blodgada hadn’t used it after a few experimental tries on the first night, mostly to keep her mind occupied, but the sentiment wasn’t lost on her.

At one point, a guard had gruffly asked her if she wished for a larger chair, but having another piece of furniture in the space would have made it impossible for her to lie down. She had declined, but thanked him. He had retreated soon after, presumably to report to the one who had sent him.

Odin had ordered her to her cell, and while it was clear that no one was about to openly defy the All-Father, his Queen still persisted in treating Blodgada as the emissary of a king. The balancing act would have been funny if not for the twist in her gut every time she thought of the All-Father.

Blodgada had been surprised when the guards had come to fetch her to Odin's council room. The meeting with Frigga had gone so badly, Blodgada had believed that all she would be seeing for the foreseeable future would be the inside of her rooms, or perhaps a headsman or two. Once she’d realized that she was truly going to face the All-Father, she’d spent the entire walk through the emptied hallways telling herself that she was a diplomat, not a soldier. She’d had it all planned out. She would be polite and formal, properly representing the dignity of her king and her people. She would not lose her temper, or stomp away like a spoiled child. She would stay calm, speak clearly, and make Odin understand his duty.

In retrospect, she probably should have just stomped away and saved them _both_ some aggravation.

For probably the hundredth time in the four days since her disastrous meeting with Odin, Blodgada closed her eyes and thumped the back of her head against the wall behind her makeshift couch. She’d been stupid. Arrogant. Childish. She’d done her level best to alienate the All-Father, the one person in all the realms who had the power to save or destroy her world.  

She wished she’d had more time to prepare. She was unaccustomed to diplomacy, only tolerating court when she had to. It was no longer in her nature. This had been far from the first first time she’d ever butted heads with a king, but it had never before been a matter of life and death, and Jotuns were different. Her conversations with Byleistr still occasionally reflected the rough, playful banter of their childhood, but she hadn't so much as dared to say anything that might have been construed as less than respectful to Laufey until after centuries of working with him. She had been so careful with her own king, but had somehow managed to offend the All-Father within minutes. And that was that. Their only chance was gone. He would never help them now. Blodgada had not been able to hold her tongue, and now Jotunheim would die.

She'd been frustrated and angry. He had kept pressing her to leave without knowing that she couldn’t, and there was no way to tell him that she was stranded. She had tried to stall and deflect, something she was much better at with a sword and shield than words, and he had taken it as a sign of disrespect. Blood drawn on both sides, whether intentional or not. She sighed. It was a reason, but not an excuse. There was _no_ excuse. She was an officer, a soldier, a tactician, a strategist. There was no point in acting like a child toward Frigga, no point in acting like a surly adolescent with Odin. The shame was almost too much to bear. Blodgada thumped her head against the wall, a little harder this time, and sighed.

She needed to talk to Odin again. To apologize, to tell- to _ask_ him not to judge Byleistr by her behavior. To kneel and grovel, if that’s what he asked. Blodgada would do whatever was necessary to serve her king and her people, no matter how distasteful. She had proven that more than once.

Blodgada tapped a finger on her knee thoughtfully. There was no way Odin was going to come down here to talk to her. She would have to get up to see him, and as she suspected escape would be counterproductive when trying to apologize to the person keeping her prisoner, she would have to charm the guards.

A grim smile. Because that had worked out _so_ well for her thus far.

Trying to distract herself, she once again reached for the book that rested on the floor near the head of her bed. It was some sort of botanical text, she thought. She'd glanced at the words, but what drew her were the pictures. The illustrations of the plants were detailed, leaves and petals delicately colored in gentle hues. She turned the pages slowly, fingers tracing the images. Nothing in the book had ever grown on Jotunheim, that was for certain, but the reminder was enough. _Someday Jotunheim will grow again_ , she thought. _It has to_.

Footsteps. Blodgada set the book down and rose to her feet. It wasn't time for a meal yet; she’d learned the patterns of the guards within the first day or two, and this was far too soon. The first of the soldiers turned the corner, and Blodgada saw that she had been correct. She hadn't seen the guard captain since just after the meeting with Odin, and from her face, she knew the other woman wasn't exactly happy to see her, either.

The captain signaled to the others, then stepped forward. The ethereal gold lace disappeared from the cell’s entrance. “Come with me,” the woman said, her voice brooking no argument.

Blodgada stepped down warily, then stood completely straight for the first time in four days. She wanted badly to stretch, but she was under no illusion that this was a friendly visit and didn’t want to antagonize her captors. The woman - Sif, Frigga had called her - turned and began walking down the corridor without looking back, and Blodgada followed, unwilling to be herded as she had been the first time. Half of her thought about asking where they were going; the other half wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Groveling. Public humiliation. Execution. Perhaps all three. Likely nothing she did would change the destination, so she held her peace and kept walking.

The skiff was waiting when they emerged from the dungeon. Blodgada was not chained as before, but she eschewed the cushioned bench at the back of the craft. She would meet her fate standing. The skiff did not enter the city, nor did it return to the fields where she had arrived. Instead, it sailed across the bay, following the path of a long bridge. Not caring who saw, Blodgada closed her eyes and let the sharp, cool breeze rush across her face. She felt that she could breathe for the first time in days. The boat slowed too soon, approaching a large golden dome. A group of soldiers stood clustered near a mooring point on the bridge; in the bright light, Blodgada thought she recognized them as Odin’s elite. As they neared, though, she saw that the sigils on their helmets and the style of their armor was slightly different. She pushed the observation to the back of her mind as the skiff stopped and was anchored by one of the soldiers on the bridge.

The captain stepped from the craft onto the bridge with practiced skill; as she did so, the radiant span shimmered beneath her boot. The colors were incredible, but as each soldier before her passed onto the bridge, not one of them looked down. Did they not see the beauty? Did they not care? There was so much they took for granted, she thought as she stepped across at a sign from the captain, the span shimmering brightly underfoot. Blodgada took a deep breath and squared her shoulders as her guards joined the ones already gathered.

A movement within the ranks; a few soldiers shifted aside, and a figure stepped forth. “Well met once more, Lady Blodgada of Jotunheim,” Frigga said with a faint smile. “Are you ready to depart?”

Blodgada tried very hard not to stare. Once again, Frigga had completely upended her. “Go?” she managed after a pause that lasted a second too long.

Frigga eyes flicked to the guard captain as she adjusted the hood of her fur cloak. “Sif didn’t tell you? You and I are going to meet Byleistr.”

“No,” Blodgada said coolly to cover for her initial surprise, not even glancing over at the guard captain. “She didn’t mention that.” The dark-haired woman’s discomfort at the slip was palpable from here, and Blodgada idly wondered whose creature she was, Frigga’s or Odin’s. It was becoming increasingly clear that it wasn’t always the same, and Blodgada found herself curious at the discrepancy. Shoving the thought to the back of her mind, she cast about for something more diplomatic, meaningful or even vaguely wise to say, but nothing came. She gave an inward shrug and forged on. “Regardless, yes. I am prepared to leave.”

“Very well.” Frigga nodded to Blodgada. “Follow me, please.”

Blodgada did so, trying to calm a heart split by two emotions. One was shock, but it faded quickly as the other came into the fore. Hope. Blodgada would not return with the All-Father, as she had thought. She would not bring any of the supplies Jotunheim so desperately needed, but as she trailed Frigga into the dome, she understood that, for now, this would have to be enough.

***

_Blodgada ducks slightly as she enters the dome, more of habit than anything else. Frigga speaks with a tall, golden-eyed man who stands with his hands on the hilt of a curiously worked sword. It is a formidable weapon, to be sure, but he does not threaten. In fact, he barely looks at Blodgada. His attention seems split between his Queen and the glittering expanse of stars before him._

_After a moment, he nods, and Blodgada watches with interest as he inserts the sword into the dais on which he stands. Bursts of lightning begin to flicker all around her. The wheels on the walls remind her of gears, and as the dome begins to spin and rumble she almost feels like she is back in the observatory. She turns in a slow circle, watching the walls rotate until they settle into position. The man grasps the sword like a key, and the instant before he activates it, Blodgada realizes who he is and where she stands._

_The startled cry dies in her throat as she is yanked into the shimmering portal before her. She is suspended, streams of light rippling all around her, but just beyond it, stars and galaxies rush by. Blodgada has to stop herself from reaching out to try and touch them. There is no shriek of wind. No tug of gravity. Only exhilaration, awe and terror in their turns as the universe streams past her face._

_And then all at once it disappears, and she is standing with Frigga and the guards in a place as familiar as her own heartbeat. The palace courtyard is deserted; windows and arches in the tower walls stand empty. No matter. She smothers the grin that threatens to come to her face as she draws strength from the stone beneath her feet._

_“I am Blodgada!” she calls in a voice trained to give battlefield orders. “I bring Frigga, All-Mother and Queen of Asgard to treat with Byleistr, King of Jotunheim!”_

_The echoes have not faded before the doors to the central tower are flung open. Byleistr leads, tall and proud; the cape of his office glitters on his shoulders. Helblindi follows a step behind him, also in full regalia. They are trailed by Byleistr’s inner guard, five more Jotun that Blodgada has known from childhood; as Byleistr stops, they fan out, taking their prescribed positions in the courtyard. They are unarmed, but these are the king’s elite. Taught by Byleistr himself, they can summon spears of ice at will. Their armor is largely ceremonial, boots and furs against the deep chill of the morning. Tall and stern and magnificent, the seven Jotun face Frigga as though it is of no surprise or consequence that Odin’s consort stands before them. Byleistr has prepared, indeed, and Blodgada has never been as proud of him as she is at this moment._

_“I am Byleistr, King of Jotunheim,” His voice is strong and confident. “I greet Frigga All-Mother, Queen of Asgard, and welcome her to our realm.” Frigga steps forward into the open space between her and Byleistr. The guard captain shifts slightly as though to follow her, but the All-Mother makes a tiny gesture, and the dark-haired woman stays where she is._

_“This is a bad idea,” one of Frigga’s soldiers says quietly to the captain. “She’s too exposed. If they attack now, there’s nothing we could do.”_

You’re right, _thinks Blodgada, smashing down another smile,_ but you are a fool if you believe your All-Mother is actually in danger, or in need of _your_ protection. We are not monsters. We do not attack without reason or provocation. You have no need to fear.

_“Do not fear,” says the captain quietly. She unknowingly echoes Blodgada’s thoughts, but then she continues. “Heimdall is watching and stands ready with the Bifrost if necessary.”_

_In an instant, Blodgada’s heart clenches._

She cannot mean that. Not again. Never again.

_The Keeper will pull her to safety, the captain says of Frigga, but it is too late._

_Trying desperately to slow her breathing before anyone notices, Blodgada bows her head long enough to take one breath, then two. Lost in her thoughts, she at first does not see the pattern is etched into the ground at her feet, marks that were not there before._

_Only a moment. The Bifrost touched down here for barely an instant, and already it has cut a mark on the stone of the courtyard. The palace. In Byleistr’s very_ home _. The center of all that remains of a once-glorious realm._

 _Dimly, Blodgada hears voices as Byleistr and Frigga act out proper diplomatic protocols, but she cannot understand any of the words over the rushing in her ears. Blistering light. A glow reflected against clouds of dust. Stains on the walls._ Not here, _she tells herself._ Not again.

_She begins to tap her fingers against her thumb. First finger, second finger, back and forth. An old habit to calm herself before a battle. An outlet for the nervous energy that inevitably came as a young, untested soldier, and a way to release it before it could turn into panic. She hasn’t had to use the tactic in centuries, yet here it is again. First finger, second finger, faster and faster._

_Blodgada hears her name, and her head snaps up almost of its own accord. Byleistr is congratulating her on her successful mission. Their eyes meet, and only their long history together allows her to recognize the tiniest of frowns on the king’s face. His eyes flick to her hand, then back to her face. “We will speak later,” he continues smoothly, as though it’s what he’s meant to say all along. He does not break eye contact. “For now, you are dismissed, with our thanks.”_

_“As you wish, my liege.” Blodgada manages to keep the tremor out of her voice for those five words, and if her bows to Byleistr and Frigga are shorter than they should be, she no longer cares. She walks into the palace, back straight, and it is not until the stone blocks her from Frigga’s view that she quickens her pace. She is not fleeing; she knows full well there is no point in trying to outrun the Bifrost, but she finds she is running long before she reaches her rooms._

_She slams the door and latches the bolt, knowing it is also useless, then collapses to her knees, shaking and crying and hating the coward she has become._

***

Dusk had fallen before Byleistr called for her. She had spent the afternoon pacing in her rooms, worrying one thumbnail between her teeth as she crossed back and forth in front of tightly closed windows. She had barely looked outside since her return and had only ventured into the hallways once to send a servant for food. Blodgada was free for the first time in days, but she found she didn’t want to go outside; the irony wasn’t lost on her.

Glad at the chance to do something besides think and wear a hole in the floor of her chambers, she nodded to the messenger and sent him on his way. Walking briskly through the palace, she soon found herself once again at the door to Byleistr’s council chamber. It had been months since she’d last been through its door. It felt like a lifetime.

Byleistr did not stand as she entered. He remained in his heavy chair, an unreadable expression on his face. Helblindi stood behind him, arms folded and with almost the same look. Blodgada came to a halt in the center of the room, hair and armor reflecting the glow of the lamps Byleistr had in every niche to ward off the encroaching dark. She said nothing, content merely to wait in the circle of flickering, familiar light.

“I’m not going to ask if you know what you’ve done,” Byleistr began without preamble, “since I’m quite sure you knew _exactly_ what you were doing. No matter that you endangered your life on a whim. No matter that by so doing, you endangered every bit of work we’ve done on the riftgate, as well as the entire rift-hunting effort. No matter that your actions might have given away valuable tactical information to which most of our _own_ populace is not privy, much less Asgard. No matter that you’re a high ranking member of my court, whether or not you agree, and you delivered yourself right into the hands of an enemy without batting an eye. We can put all that aside. Forget it completely, if we’d like, because I’m _very_ interested to know who in the _Hel_ authorized you to conduct a diplomatic mission without leave.”

She knew better than to speak, but her face could not lie. Byleistr’s voice was firm and cold. “And not just _any_ diplomatic mission. This wasn’t trotting over to Muspelheim to ask if you could borrow a few thousand _uxuma_. You colluded with an enemy sovereign. You allowed _armed Asgardians_ into the palace. But that wasn’t enough. You brought the damned Queen of _Summer_ into my ancestral _home_.” A long silence, broken only by the creak of leather as Helblindi shifted position. “Have you _any_ thing to say for yourself? Anything that _might_ save you?”

Execution, then. Everything he had said was true. Every single thing he had listed was an act of treason in itself; there was nothing she could say to change a thing. All three of them knew it, and she wondered which brother would act as executioner. From previous experience, she had quite a good idea. She only hoped Helblindi would be quick about it.

Blodgada straightened. “No, my liege. I can, and will, do nothing to defend my actions. They speak for themselves, and I stand ready to accept their consequences.”

Byleistr nodded sharply. “Very well. Your punishment is this: You are not to travel to other realms without my knowledge _and my permission_. Do _not_ do this again. Now, sit.”

She blinked; this was not what she had been expecting to hear. Byleistr gave her a look of infinite patience, gesturing slightly to the chair that rested near one corner of his desk.

“ _Sit_ ,” he repeated. “Gods below, you’re making me twitchy just looking at you. When did you sleep last? And put your armor back on; you’re not getting murdered. I have too much for you to do.”

Blodgada looked down at her arm. The fingers of her right hand were tangled in the laces of the opposite bracer, ready to pull it off in preparation for her execution. Realization dawned, and she sagged, the adrenaline of the past week draining in an instant. She fumbled for the chair and sat heavily.

“First things first.” Byleistr leaned forward, forearms on the desk. “Are you all right? Did they mistreat you?”

“Yes,” she said, fingers tightening the laces on her arm. “I'm all right.”

He studied her, eyes missing nothing. “Were you hurt? Imprisoned? Harmed in any way?”

“Imprisoned,” she confirmed; his eyes narrowed, and she shrugged. “Unavoidable, I think, but it was by far the nicest prison I've ever been in.” Armor firmly back in place, she went on. “Small, but they fed me well. All the books I could handle, cushions, blankets… they seem quite fond of blankets.” Blodgada realized she was probably dangerously close to babbling and forced herself to slow. “Really, I'm all right.”

“You didn't look all right in the courtyard.”

“You looked frightened,” Helblindi added as he sauntered to his favorite bench. “I thought for sure they’d coerced you into setting some sort of trap.”

Blodgada and Byleistr both glared at Helblindi, who shrugged nonchalantly. Blodgada turned back to the king.

“It was the Bifrost,” she admitted after a moment. “They didn’t…” she stopped, then started again. “I…” she trailed off, trying and failing to find a way to hide her cowardice.

“Understood.” Byleistr’s voice was oddly sympathetic as he stood and began pacing. “You were not the only one to be affected by it. Frigga has agreed that any further use of the Bifrost will occur outside the city walls, with enough warning that those who do not wish to see it can get indoors. There is no need for them to brandish such a weapon on our very doorstep.”

Frigga. “You were able to speak with her further before she left?”

“Oh, the Queen is still here.” Byleistr leaned a hip on the corner of the table and folded his arms; a tiny smirk lingered at the edges of his lips. “She and her retinue are likely well settled in by now. While you were gone, we cleaned and refitted the rooms near the steam vents. I seem to recall they’re not too fond of the cold.”

“So many blankets,” agreed Blodgada, a matching smile finally coming to her face for the first time in days. “From what I remember, those rooms are probably about the right temperature.” She took a deep breath. “I’m glad you were able to prepare; I didn't know if you'd get my message.”

“You have a trustworthy apprentice,” Byleistr said. “He was determined to follow your instructions. Well chosen.”

“He was truly something to behold,” Helblindi added from his place on the bench. “Madman comes running into the courtyard, screaming at the guards that he has to see King Byleistr _this second,_ or they’re all going to owe their intestines in payment to the Blood Lieutenant.”

Blodgada blanched a little in spite of herself. “And that _worked_?”

“After a fashion,” Byleistr shrugged, not elaborating further. “I wasn’t sure if I was to prepare for negotiations or battle. It made things a little difficult, to say the least.”

“I voted battle,” Helblindi broke in.

“As always,” Byleistr agreed with a lift of an eyebrow. “Fortunately, clearer heads prevailed, and we did our best to prepare for both. It’s been a little difficult to maintain a high level of readiness when we weren’t sure when, or _if_ you’d even return, but I think we managed to make at least a passably good impression.” He returned to his chair, stretching out gratefully and resting his hands on his stomach. “Your turn. Tell me about Frigga.”

“I would wager I’ve spent less than half an hour with her, all told,” Blodgada said, wincing at the memories. “Our meetings didn’t go as well as I’d hoped.”

“Well enough, it would seem,” Byleistr countered. “And that should have been ample time for someone such as yourself to read a person.”

“A person, yes. The All-Mother? Not so much.” Blodgada sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she gathered her thoughts. “Words and information,” she began at last. “You should probably assume that she knows at least twice what she's actually letting on. I told them my name when I was taken, and by the time I met with her only a short while later, she knew everything. My office. My family. My background.” Blodgada rubbed at the scars buried within the matriarchal lines on her forehead. “She knew about Karnsa.”

A snort. “No need to worry about _that_ ,” Helblindi said, swinging his feet to the floor with a loud thud. “ _Everyone_ knows about Karnsa. Kings. Peasants. Wildfowl. _Children_ know about Karnsa.” He put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward with a conspiratory whisper. “They’ve got whole _songs_ about why your hair's that awful color. That all the blood just…”

“Helblindi.” A touch of warning colored Byleistr’s voice; Helblindi sat back with a chuckle and pulled the knife out of his boot, flipping it idly in his old habit.

“Frigga has all the information you believe she has, and then some,” Blodgada continued, forcing down her irritation at Helblindi's comment. “It's her words you need to watch out for. She maneuvers conversations exactly where she wants them. Pins you down right where she needs you to be, and you don’t see it coming. I think she’s the type that if you cross her, before you know it she’s taken your arm off at the shoulder and you’ve thanked her for the privilege of losing it.” She sat back. “I’ve never seen anything like it, and I think I know now where the Traitor gets his skill with words. Gods, I was _there_ , and I _still_ find myself wondering whether our meeting wasn’t just some pleasant little visit that I’m misinterpreting. That's how good she is.” She shook her head. “I'm sorry Byleistr. It was sudden. I was rattled. I can't say much more than that.”

“It's a good start,” Byleistr told her, “and you'll have plenty of chances to refine your impressions. We'll have to come up with a way for you to signal me if you feel as though she's leading the conversation away from where _we_ need it to be.”

Blodgada stared at him for a moment. “I am a soldier, not a negotiator.”

“You are a _strategist_ ,” he corrected sternly. “You read situations. You find patterns. You predict where those patterns lead, and you act. It doesn’t even seem to matter whether you’re reviewing reports, on the battlefield, or standing in front of a collapsing rift, so I'm willing to wager that your skills will easily be carried to a negotiation table.” There was a trace of humor in his smile. “Besides, Frigga asked for you personally.”

He did not ask her if she was willing; there was no need. Blodgada sighed.

“Very well, then. I’ll write up as much as I remember of our meeting, as well as my impressions. You’ve spoken with her more than I have by now, but it might be helpful.”

“Excellent.” Byleistr’s lip quirked. “I fear you still have the advantage over me, though. I haven’t spoken with Odin.” Blodgada groaned and dropped her face into her hands as Byleistr continued. “Frigga said you’d met with him, but that she was not in attendance.”

“Doesn’t mean a thing,” Blodgada reminded him, lifting her head. “I’m sure she knows exactly what happened.” A wince at the memory. “I still can’t believe he let me live.”

A snort from Helblindi and an answering look from Byleistr. The king steepled his fingers thoughtfully once his brother had fallen silent once more. “Seems to have been effective at least.” Her eyebrow went up, and he gave her an answering smirk. “You don’t think so?”

Blodgada shook her head. “I don’t know _what_ to think. My meeting with Odin ended with every weapon in the room pointed at my face, including that damned spear of his. I’m surprised I wasn’t wiped out on the spot.” She paused, and decided confession was probably her best option. “I was a fool. I deliberately antagonized him. He was angry before I ever even stepped into that room, if I’m any judge, but I didn’t care. I said what I wanted to, not what I _should_ have. It was dangerous. It was stupid, and I did it anyway.”

“Angry.” Byleistr frowned thoughtfully. “Why?”

“I’m not sure. I assumed it was because of me; he seemed barely able to be in the same room with me. It seemed odd. I’m certainly not the first frost giant he’s seen, or even killed.” She pursed her lips as she replayed the scene in her mind. “It might have been something else, and my presence only made it worse. I will tell you this, though. I’m almost certain he has no idea how I got there, and I think that played into his mood.”

“Did you tell him?” Helblindi asked, earning another glare from both Byleistr and his lieutenant. Blodgada shook her head and went on.

“He ordered me to return home more than once. I had no way to do so, but even if I’d been able to, I didn’t want them to know about the riftgate. I tried to deflect, but he kept pushing. He wouldn’t let go; it became infuriating. It’s all he could think about. All he wanted, and he refused to give anything in return for the information. I don’t think it _occurred_ to him to offer anything in return, and I was livid at the thought of giving one more thing to him, All-Father or not. I lost my temper.” She dropped her head back into her hands, fingers tangled loosely in the braids around her face. “It’s no excuse. It’s barely a reason. I represented you poorly, and I ask your forgiveness. I take responsibility for what happened.”

A soft swish of movement, and then she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, but Byleistr had crouched to be at her eye level. “What’s done is done,” he said, “and in the end, there is nothing to forgive. You did well, Blodgada. The All-Mother came. We were ready when she did. We are that much closer to the negotiating table and the reparations we require, and  far earlier than I had hoped to be. I meant what I said in the courtyard; it wasn’t just for Frigga to hear. You have my thanks, both as your friend, and as your king.”

She let out a long breath and rubbed her face with her hands, then nodded. Byleistr gave her an encouraging smile, and then they stood together. Blodgada straightened. “What do you need me to do?”

Byleistr nodded, recognizing her need to focus on what was required rather than to dwell on perceived failure.

“A few things,” he admitted after a second’s thought. “I want you back out at the rift station for at least a few hours; nothing will happen before then. Set a watch on Odin. It’s impossible to say if he’s going to be a part of this; if I have _my_ way, we’ll have him _and_ the Traitor brought to answer for what’s been done to this realm, but it’s too soon to be sure. Regardless, we need to watch him. Any information we can glean will be helpful, and I don’t need to tell you that having an idea of what troubles him might make negotiating a little… easier.” A faint smile that Blodgada matched as the king went on. “I also want that report on Frigga, but that can also wait. For now, get some rest. Sleep. Visit the weapons yard. Whatever you need. Wash Asgard off for the moment and start again tomorrow. I’ve called a banquet for tonight, but your attendance is not required. See to your own needs.”

She nodded, slightly ashamed of how grateful she was for the kindness, but did not immediately leave.

“There’s something else,” Byleistr observed. It was not a question.

Blodgada reached into the pouch at her hip and pulled out a _heggr_ , passing it to Byleistr. Curious, Helblindi joined them, and the three of them stood gazing for moment at the tiny fruit in Byleistr’s hand.

“They really did take everything,” Helblindi said at last, voice uncharacteristically quiet, and for once, no one argued with him.

***

The rift station was over an hour's walk from the palace, but Blodgada didn't mind. It helped stretch muscles tight from captivity, and the familiar scenery helped to ground her. The walk was necessary, in any case; Byleistr had placed a moratorium on all rift travel as soon as he learned where she’d gone, and how. He was no fool, and neither was Odin; it stood to reason that the Asgardians would be watching closely to try and determine how she’d done it. The ban remained in force, stronger than before, if possible, now that Frigga walked among them. This was too valuable a secret to give up.

With hard work and a few centuries, the rift station might begin to be enough to replace the original observatory. For now, though, it was merely a collection of shacks and caves positioned to take advantage of the rift cluster near the Capitol. There was no gate, not yet, and the single travelrift was under heavy guard. The entrance to the cavern in which it hovered had been blocked for the duration of Frigga’s visit; to the untrained eye, the mess looked like a simple cave-in, but Blodgada knew better. She inwardly nodded her approval as she passed by, poking her head into a few structures as she went. No one seemed to be in any of the outer buildings, so she continued to the entrance of the large cavern that served as the center of operations.

The room was kept purposefully dim in order to make it easier to see the light from the lenses, making it difficult to see after the relative light outside. Blodgada slowed out of long habit, allowing her eyes to adjust. Her silhouette was easily recognizable, though, and almost immediately she heard the triumphant slap of a hand against a table.

“I _told_ you so!” someone said off to her right. There was a rustling of paper, several thumps and some muffled but familiar cursing.

“Vornir?” she asked, squinting a little. “What’s going on?”

He emerged from the gloom, and at last she could see the massive grin on his face. “I knew it was you,” he said. “When the Bifrost came down, everyone thought it was the end, but I knew it was you. I mean, I didn’t _know_ know. Our orders were to go dark, and _some_ one took that very literally. We were smashed into that back cave with all the extra supplies and maybe a pack animal or two, from the smell, so I couldn’t see a thing. But I knew.” A slight chuckle. “I knew you’d find your way back.”

Blodgada glanced around, now understanding why her eyes were taking so long to adjust to the darkness. Normally, there would be light from the rift lenses illuminating the room, but he was right. The space was completely dark save for a few heavily hooded lamps.

“How long have you been running dark?” she asked, heading for the nearest bright spot.

“Three, maybe four hours?” He fell easily into step beside her. “That was the plan. Once we received word, we were to cut off all communication immediately. That word came this morning about ten seconds after the Bifrost came down. We got another message about an hour later that we could come out of hiding, but to stay dark, and we’ve heard nothing since. They’ve been climbing the walls with worry about what’s happening. Not me, though. I knew it was you. I _knew_ it.”

She shook her head as she answered his grin with a friendly squeeze to his shoulder, then looked around. Raising her voice, she caught the attention of those standing closest.

“Well,” she said, “Byleistr sent me with a _new_ message. Gather the others; we’ve had a change in plans.”

Vornir pointed at a couple of watchers, who nodded, grabbed lanterns and made their way into the darkness. She gave him a curious look as he retrieved another light and walked with her to a small side cavern that doubled as a meeting chamber.

“Since when are you in charge?” she asked.

A chagrined but proud look. “I’ve been named as your personal assistant. Being the direct subordinate of head of the king’s intelligence division carries more weight than you’d think, I guess.” He snickered a little. “And let’s face it, we’re all pretty new at this. Everyone just assumes I know more because I was out there with you, but there’s a lot I’m still lacking. I'm glad you're back.”

“I'm glad too, but I won’t be here. I’m needed at the palace for the time being, so you’ll get to run the place for a while longer.” Vornir's face fell in the lamplight. “You’ll learn how,” she assured him as she pulled stacks of charts from a shelf. “If for no other reason than you’d _better_ learn. Those here need you to learn. They need to know where to turn for guidance, and you’re it. Embrace it.”

A light scoff as he hung his lantern above the table and cracked its hood open a little further. Blodgada began to sort through the charts and maps. “I have to say, though, I’m a little surprised to see you here.”

Vornir made a slight face as he took the pages she handed him with a practiced hand. “Byleistr ordered me to stay close; his worry was that Asgard would be trying to learn how you got here. He didn’t want me to draw attention.” He huffed out a laugh. “I don’t know what was worse. Facing Byleistr after misplacing his best Lieutenant somewhere in the Wastes, or dragging all our equipment _and_ that damned, stubborn pack beast back on my own.”

Blodgada stared. “You brought back the equipment?”

“Most of it.” He shrugged. “I made sure to bring back the irreplaceable bits, but I had to cache some of the bulkier things.” A gentle snort. “I was in a bit of a rush, as you might imagine.” He all but scuffed a foot under her gaze. “Your lenses are in my quarters, along with the map case. I wasn’t sure if you wanted anyone else to see them. I can get them, if you want.”

“Keep them,” she said after a moment, “for now. With my thanks.”

A slightly embarrassed nod as the other watchers gathered in the room. Blodgada indicated that they should take places around the table; lamps were opened further, and the room became relatively bright. Vornir spoke for the others, as she had hoped he would.

“What have you got for us now?” the young man asked.

“Odin.” She held up a hand to forestall the murmurs that began almost immediately. “I cannot give you all the details of what’s happening, but you all saw the Bifrost and deserve to know what it means. The All-Mother has come to Jotunheim; she and her contingent are in Byleistr’s palace.” More whispers, and she raised a single eyebrow as she glanced around the table. The noise stopped instantly. “The ban on travel will remain, as will that on the messagerifts. You’ve got ink, parchment and feet. Use them for now. Avoid any watchrifts that open anywhere near our own palace, but we need a constant watch on these and any others we might find onto Asgard.” Her fingers flicked across the maps spread along the table, pointing out which rifts to use and which to avoid. She felt herself relaxing; for a moment it was almost as though she was back at the observatory. The thought was melancholy, but oddly comforting.

She divided the staff into shifts, making sure to clearly delineate what they were looking for in regards to Odin’s behaviors and actions, as well as giving a brief description of other Asgardians they might see. She kept her voice deliberately bland as she spoke of the royal sons. The blond fool. The Traitor.

Byleistr had decided long ago that the details of Laufey’s death were to remain quiet. He had perished while attempting to regain the Casket. Odin had retaliated, quick and vicious as a serpent. There had been calls for war from Byleistr’s council; they had died out soon enough, along with half the populace. Battle was pointless with so few soldiers to fight, and stranded on their own realm as the Jotuns were, the thought of vengeance had been almost laughable.

“Be quick,” she said, bringing herself back to the present. “Be cautious. There’s no such thing as too much intelligence at this point. If it seems the slightest bit important, it very likely is. We’ll sort out what we need, but give us as much as you can.” Those gathered around the table nodded, and she glanced at each one in turn. “Any questions?”

A woman hesitantly signaled for attention. “Can we still watch Midgard?”

Blodgada turned to Vornir, who grinned a little sheepishly. “None of us have ever seen Midgard before now, not even through a rift. We’re careful. If there’s not much going on, sometimes we’ll open a few of the smaller watchrifts.” A casual shrug that failed to hide his true interest. “It’s not like any other realm, and it’s _nothing_ like the history tomes say it should be.”

She considered the chart. “As long as you stick to watchrifts only, I don't see a problem.” A smile at the woman who’d asked the original question. “Believe me, I know how boring this can be.”

A wave of exhaustion struck her; she longed to close her eyes. The thought of sleeping in an actual bed was becoming more alluring by the second. Blodgada glanced around. “Further questions?”

None were offered, so she straightened. “I’ll leave you in Vornir’s capable hands, then.” Turning to leave, she stopped in the doorway and glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t know much of Midgard, either,” Blodgada admitted with a friendly, parting smile. “Let me know if you see anything interesting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedcrack appreciated, as always, especially on the giants. Happy Wednesday! Love you all! <3
> 
> lyric from "through glass" by stone sour.


	9. Chapter 9

_From:_ _Banner, Bruce_

 _To:_ _Kindle, Aeslin G.; Laufeyson, Loki_

 _Re:_ _Officiant?_

_Priority: HIGH_

_Barton’s bought one of those shirts with the tux already printed on the front and cut off the sleeves in preparation for being the officiant at your impending beach nuptials. He claims it’s because he’s too hot for sleeves and will be ready for the afterparty without even changing his clothes._

_For the love of God, you two. DO SOMETHING._

_-B_

***

 _From:_ _Laufeyson, Loki_

 _To:_ _Banner, Bruce_

 _Cc:_ _Kindle, Aeslin G._

 _Re:_ _Officiant?_

_Pics or you’re lying._

_Love and kisses,_

_L_

***

 _From:_ _Kindle, Aeslin G._

 _To:_ _Banner, Bruce_

 _Cc:_ _Laufeyson, Loki_

 _Re:_ _Officiant?_

_Seconded._

_Cheers,_

_The Near Miss(us)_

***

 _From:_ _Banner, Bruce_

 _To:_ _Laufeyson, Loki_

 _Cc:_ _Kindle, Aeslin_

 _Re:_ _Officiant_

_Priority: CRITICAL_

_I SWEAR TO GOD AND ANY OTHER DEITIES WHO MIGHT BE PAYING ATTENTION THAT BOTH OF YOU ARE TWELVE AND IF YOU DO NOT CALL LOKI’S MOTHER THIS FREAKING SECOND YOU ARE GROUNDED AND I AM BUYING CLINT THE MATCHING SHORT SHORTS MYSELF AND GIVING BACK EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THE PRESENTS WE PROMISED NOT TO BUY YOU NOW IF YOU’LL EXCUSE ME I NEED TO GO TAKE A BOTTLE OF XANAX AND WATCH CAT VIDEOS ON YOUTUBE_

_-B_

_PS ATTACHED FIND YOUR STUPID PICTURES_

_PPS JK I LOVE YOU BUT OMG YOU GUYS CALL HER_

_***_

Aeslin grinned as she read the latest of Bruce’s emails to Loki, who chuckled in response while he added a few touches to the design he’d been working on for his portfolio.

“Think we should tell him that we’ve already sent a message?”

“Gods, no,” he answered, surveying his work critically, “and _cer_ tainly not if she hasn’t responded yet. Allow him a few videos; he’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Ah, yes. But will _we_?”

“Absolutely. I’ve beaten him before, and I can do it again.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Bruce, yes,” she agreed. “The other guy? Not so much, as I seem to recall.”

He shook his head as he adjusted a line on his sketch. “That one didn’t count. I had him on the ropes; Thor just interrupted.”

A noncommittal noise that spoke volumes. “You don’t say.”

“It would have been a battle for the ages, little one,” he said with a smirk. “A very tragic, very _short_ battle for the ages, yes, but a battle nonetheless.”

She rolled her eyes, and his smirk widened. “So back to our more _important_ discussion. Now that I think of it, the rain did wash away those sigils we drew on the balcony the other night quicker than I thought it would. Heimdall might not have been paying close enough attention, especially given what happened soon afterward. We can redo them later this evening, if you’d like; it’s supposed to be clear.” A pause. “For London, anyway. Not that it matters to the Guardian.”

“Maybe.” She tapped her lip thoughtfully, and then something seemed to occur to her. “I might have a better idea, though.” She shifted her laptop to the ottoman, then stood as she swept a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ll be right back.”

He watched as she left the room, briefly distracted from the work in front of him. She returned after only a moment, holding a small box in one hand. Loki set aside his work as she came nearer, pulling her down onto his lap out of habit. She settled as she normally did, knees against his thighs, and he rested his hands on her hips, a gesture familiar and comforting to both of them. He looked down as she opened the box to reveal the small, clear globe that Frigga had gifted her with almost a year before during her visit to Malibu. The sparks of magic within the ball flickered as she lifted it from the box; they seemed to glow brighter as she brushed a finger across the surface.

“I’d almost forgotten it with everything else that’s happened since then,” she admitted. She tipped it gently into Loki’s palm. “I mean, it wouldn’t be using it for the specific purpose that she gave it to me, but it _would_ be to ask her help, I suppose.” She nibbled her lower lip as she considered. “It’s not just for emergencies, right?”

Loki lazily flipped his hand, allowing the ball to roll across the back of his knuckles in a childhood habit. “It’s for whatever you need it to be, _elskan_ , and from poor Banner’s last email, I think _he_ , at least, would classify the situation right up there with another invasion. Besides, it’s not as though she sees you as an inconvenience. I’m a little surprised that she hasn’t shown up already, but she probably doesn’t want to assume anything.” Loki gave her a reassuring smile as he cupped her neck with his free hand, thumb stroking just below her ear. “Don’t worry. She won’t be offended. You’re not breaking any rules; it’s for you to use as you wish. I promise.”

He handed the ball back to her; it nested in her fingers.

“I just break it?”

A nod. “I will say that trying to break it while screaming profanities and running for your life straight toward a dead end, while _terribly_ exhilarating, is not, in fact, recommended.” He grinned at her expression and went on. “It’s actually easiest if you just sort of jam a fingernail into it, then crush it in your hand.”

The skepticism on her face deepened. “You seem to know an awful lot about these for someone who never needed his.”

“I said I never had a use for it,” he clarified. “I never said I didn’t know _how_.” A shrug. “They’re not actually that hard to make once you’ve got the hang of it.”

A fleeting look crossed her face, and he held up a finger. “Rule 27,” he intoned sternly. “No sympathy.”

She stuck out her tongue at him in response, and Loki raised an eyebrow.

“Promises, promises,” he tsked, winking at the blush that crept along her neck. “Now break that thing before Banner murders us _both_ in our sleep, and then maybe we’ll put more sigils out on the balcony just so we can say we did our best.”

Aeslin nodded in agreement. She dug one short, blue-lacquered thumbnail into the smooth surface of the globe, then squeezed her hand tightly around it. There was a faint crackling noise; she opened her fingers again, and a few sparks drifted up, disappearing almost immediately. The ethereal fragrance of Frigga’s garden in summer lingered for a few seconds more. They waited for a few moments in silence, each glancing around surreptitiously to see if anyone would appear. When nothing changed, Loki let out a breath.

“Well.” His voice seemed loud in the darkening flat. “That’s that.”

She rubbed her fingers together absently, as though she could still feel the magic clinging to her skin. “That’s that,” she repeated, her voice thoughtful, and he smoothed his thumb along her side reassuringly.

“Don’t worry, love,” he said. “She’s a busy woman. She’ll be here.”

Her nod was a little distracted, and he gave her an understanding grin. “Sigils?” he asked.

A relieved, sheepish sort of smile; she had apparently been more worried about the whole thing than he had realized. He planted a kiss on her cheek in apology, then gave her a gentle smack on the hip.

“Up, then,” he said. “I’ll go and find the chalk.”

***

Loki rode the elevator up to his floor, his heavy messenger bag tucked safely against his side. Emerging into the sunlit hallway, he fumbled with his key only briefly before opening the door and letting himself in.

He nearly ran into her as he did so; she stood on one foot, one hand on the bookcase for balance as she pulled on one of the flats she rarely wore. She slid her foot into the other as she saw him, giving him a flustered half-smile.

“Dress fitting,” she said a little breathlessly as she grabbed for a jacket. “I was grading tests and lost track of time; if I run, I’ll just be able to make it.” She leaned up for a brief kiss; he bent down at the same time, and she misjudged the distance, smacking into him a little harder than he’d anticipated. “Sorry, love you, miss you, be back soon,” she called as she sprinted past him. The door shut behind her, and Loki was left with the faint scent of verbena and the silence of a suddenly empty flat.

He shook his head with a tiny grin, nudging his shoes off into the spot that hers had so recently vacated. Carrying his bag into the living room, he put it carefully on the ottoman, then glanced into the kitchen area. Two stacks of paper lay on the table, one much larger than the other, and he probed the new sore spot on his lower lip as he looked at them thoughtfully. After a moment, he went back to the bedroom; he rapidly changed into a more comfortable t-shirt and his favorite pair of jeans, then wandered back toward the front of the flat. Retrieving a drink from the fridge and a few cookies from his stash in the freezer, he settled into a chair and went to work.

***

Aeslin returned a few hours later; Loki was standing at the counter making himself a sandwich when she made her way into the kitchen. Loki glanced up curiously when she came to a dead stop a few feet away, staring at him with a strange sort of look on her face. He smiled invitingly.

“I got hungry,” he said, holding up the jam knife as evidence. “Sandwich?”

She shook her head dumbly at him, then walked over and took the knife from him, setting it gently on the counter. She grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulling him toward her and into a fierce, deep kiss that skipped his brain entirely and went straight to the base of his spine. They broke apart after a long moment, faces still close together, and he gave her a slightly bemused look.

“And just what was that all about? You weren’t gone _that_ long, and it wouldn’t have been _that_ great of a sandwich. We’re out of blackberry again.”

“For having to ask what it was for,” she said, a handful of his Flogging Molly shirt still clutched in her fingers. “Among other things.” She tilted her head meaningfully at the dining room table, where the pile of graded tests was now significantly larger than it had been. He followed her gaze, then met her eyes again.

“Ah.” He gave her a disarming grin as he abandoned his snack and slid a possessive arm around her waist instead. “Just a little project to keep me occupied with something besides the _highly_ distracting thoughts I was having of you in a wedding dress.”

“I didn’t leave an answer key.”

“No need,” he answered, working the index finger of his free hand into one of her belt loops and using it to pull her even closer. “All I had to do was find Laika’s test. One hundred, as expected, so I used it for grading the others. And do give me _some_ credit, love. I didn’t really _need_ a full answer key; I’ve done all my assigned reading.”

“ _Have_ you,” she replied, running her lips along his neck.

“Mmhmm,” he confirmed as she found the sweet spot beneath his jaw, “and as long as you’re handing out rewards for jobs well done, I’d _also_ like to mention that I made the bed.”

“Did you.” Her teeth grazed his earlobe.

“Hospital corners and everything. Matched all your socks, too. Even the ones that don’t.”

A laugh against the hollow of his throat. “Keep talking.”

“Alphabetized the spice cabinet,” he managed, trying and failing to keep his voice steady as he racked his brain for more ideas. “Took out the recycling, but only after after I sorted it by color.” Her hands slipped beneath his shirt, fingers warm against the muscles of his stomach, and he found himself scrambling to put two words together as she backed toward the counter, drawing him with her. “Fed the cat,” he gasped out as her hips hit the drawers next to the oven, and she stopped, hands against his chest.

“We don’t have a cat.”

“Borrowed the neighbors’?” he answered a little desperately, and she narrowed her eyes for an agonizing second before nodding.

“That works.”

“Thank the _gods_.” He lifted her onto the countertop, one hand tugging her hair free of its bindings as she wound a leg around his waist. Tangling his fingers in the soft strands, he tipped her head back a little, brushing his lips along her jaw and down the silken skin of her neck.

“I should be grading.”

“I’ll help you in a minute.” He sucked in a helpless breath as she purposefully shifted her hands. “An hour. _Several_ hours. Oh, sweet bloody _hell_ , woman-”

There was a firm, rapid knock on the door leading to the veranda; they both froze. Loki let his eyes fall shut and lifted his face to the ceiling.

“You’re joking. You’re _joking_.”

The cheerful knock came again, and he opened his eyes with a noise of sheer frustration as he looked at her.

“Grievous bodily harm.”

She shook her head. “Illegal.”

A sigh. “Damn.” He extricated himself from her, petulantly straightening his crumpled shirt as he did so.

She lifted an eyebrow as he glanced toward the noise. “Do you need me to get it?”

“Alas, I’m all right, but thank you.” He gave her a slight bow, then turned and stalked through the dining area. Looking across the living room, he saw Thor plastered against the sliding door that opened out onto the balcony. A wide grin split his brother’s face the second he saw Loki, and he waved happily through the glass.

“Fratricide?” Loki asked through an answering smile, leaning back fractionally to the kitchen while maintaining eye contact with Thor.

“Also frowned upon,” she called back as she slithered from the countertop and twitched her own clothing back into place.

“Still? Pity.” He crossed the room and slid open the glass door with a flourish. “Mother!” he said, holding out his arms as Thor breezed into the living room, bringing with him the smell of ozone and stardust. “What a delight to see you, though I must say, that is a _truly_ hideous disguise you’ve chosen this time around.” Loki reached over and tugged gently at Thor’s beard. “So realistic, too. _Well_ done.”

Thor gave him a long-suffering look. “I’m not your mother.”

Loki allowed a bit of shock to color his face for the briefest of moments. “You don’t say.”

Dropping Mjolnir gently on one of the end tables in the living room, Thor glanced around. “Am I still in time for pancakes?”

“It’s three in the afternoon, Thor.”

A smirk touched Thor’s face as he adjusted the simple, deep red coat he wore. “You say that like it means something.” He rubbed his hands together. “Then am I interrupting anything else?”

Loki gave him a smile. “Do you _really_ want to know?”

His brother regarded him thoughtfully for a second. “Oh,” he said at last, nodding at Aeslin as she came into the room. “Well met, Kindlesdaughter. You’re looking well, if a little… rumpled?”

“Blame your brother,” she replied without rancor as she swiped her fingers through her hair. “ _I_ voted for grading papers.”

A snort escaped Loki before he could help himself. “Is _that_ what we’re calling it these days?” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear as he gave her a smile. “And don’t give me that look. As I seem to recall, _you_ started it.”

Thor gave a sage nod and a poorly-hidden wink to his brother. “As always.”

“See? I’m beyond reproach,” Loki told Aeslin as he led the way back into the kitchen. “The very picture of innocence. I can’t help it if I’m so easily seduced.”

An affirmative noise from Thor as he opened one of the cupboards and began to poke around. “He’s tragic, really. Naive as a _vorkálfur_ , but only half as pretty.” He abandoned the cupboard and went for the freezer. “Looks like I’ve saved your virtue just in time, brother. Again.”

She folded her arms, leaning against the countertop she’d left only moments before and regarding them both with a look of vast patience. Thor poked his head around the freezer door and gave her a pleasant grin.

“And if you think that would be the worst thing I’ve ever seen, little almost-sister, you’re quite mistaken.” He turned hopefully back to the neatly wrapped packages in the freezer. “Are those chocolate cranberry cookies? Like you fed us at Solstice?”

“Not as far as you’re concerned,” Loki replied smoothly as he closed the door. “They’re therapy. Steal something else, you ill-mannered beast.”

A mock-wounded look crossed Thor’s face. “I defend your honor, and this is the thanks I get.” He tsked. “You know, I wasn’t going to tell her about that enchantress from Muspelheim, but now I fear I may have no choice…” He trailed off, looking meaningfully at his brother, who shook his head.

“Do your worst, troglodyte. Those things are sacred.”

“Enchantress?” Aeslin was staring between the two of them; they returned her look with maddeningly identical expressions. Thor spoke first.

“Tentacles,” he breathed, blue eyes innocent and just a little traumatized. “ _Gods_ , the _tentacles._ ”

Her face blanched, but she caught Loki’s smothered grin at the last second and sighed dramatically.

“I hate you.” At Loki’s chuckle, she gave him a warning look. “ _Both_ of you. Trolls.”

“Ah,” replied Thor with an infectious smile. “Then what better time to discuss a wedding?”

A few moments later, Thor had brewed a cup of coffee for himself, and Loki had finished making his neglected sandwich. They skipped the dining table, mindful of the tests still stacked on its surface. Before they sat down, Thor took both of Aeslin’s hands in one of his and planted a kiss on her cheek.

“That’s for you,” he said, “in honor of your engagement.”

“No need,” Loki replied as he sprawled on one end of the couch, legs stretched onto the ottoman. “I already gave it to her.”

Thor chuckled. “That was only because I wasn’t sure I’d get the chance,” he said. “Besides, it’s not the same without the beard.”

Aeslin shook her head at Loki with an impertinent little smile, then offered her other cheek to Thor. He obliged with another friendly peck.

“I see how it is,” Loki told them both sternly as Aeslin sauntered cheerfully over to him, flopped onto the couch and dropped her feet onto his lap. “First my cookies, now my queen. What _would_ Doctor Foster say?”

A strange half-smile touched Thor’s face. “I have no idea.”

Sudden realization hit Loki, and he sat up a little straighter as Thor settled into the large chair nearby. “Oh. _Oh._ I’m so sorry, brother.”

Thor shrugged as he stirred his coffee, then set the spoon softly on the edge of the end table, careful not to leave a mark. “It was inevitable, I think,” he said after a moment. “In the end, I think our paths are too different. The foundation for what we had was rocky, at best, and we never had the time to build something stronger, as you have.” A gentle smile. “Perhaps we never made the time.”

Loki watched his brother’s bent head for a moment; the familiar, tangled blond strands now tumbled well below his shoulders, and he realized how much Thor, too, had changed since his coronation. The one Loki had deliberately ruined, thinking Thor was not fit for the throne. Perhaps he hadn’t been, not then, but there was a different weight to him now. Loki felt a twinge of regret at not being able to be in Asgard to support him as a brother should. Another, larger twinge. _Among other things_ , he thought.

Thor looked up as though he could read Loki’s mind, and he gave him a smile. “Regret nothing,” he said quietly, echoing the words spoken before every prank and ill-planned adventure of their childhood. Loki merely nodded, and Thor gave him a grateful look.

“Besides,” Thor went on, “it’s not my future we’re concerned with here. It’s yours, and from what I’ve been told, that future stands in jeopardy if we don’t manage to get the two of you wed.”

Back on safer ground, Loki smiled as he settled back and reached for his snack. Aeslin spoke up from her spot next to him. “We were hoping to have Frigga perform the ceremony. We’ve been trying to reach her, but we’re not sure how successful we were.”

“We did get your messages,” Thor confirmed, “but the All-Mother has been called away on an urgent errand and fears that she won’t be finished with it by the time you need her.”

“Errand for what?” Loki asked curiously.

Thor leaned back and took a sip of coffee. “I’m not sure; she’s given me absolutely no details. We spoke briefly about your message a few days before she went, but she hadn’t returned by the time I left.”

“Sneaked out, you mean?”

Thor gave him a knowing grin. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m _also_ sure that Father is still in contact with her, as is the Guardian. It’s not the first time she’s gone alone on important business, as you well know, though I do promise you she was _more_ than a little piqued at the likelihood of missing your wedding. Duty has a way of interrupting at the worst times.”

“True,” Loki agreed. “It just seems odd that she wouldn’t tell you anything; you’re the heir, after all. If they expect you to take the throne, there’s no point in keeping secrets from you. It’s not as though that’s worked particularly well for them in the past, anyway.” The venom in his voice surprised him, and Thor gave him a sympathetic look.

“She’ll tell me when the time is right,” his brother said. “Or perhaps she’s gone off to find me a suitable queen and doesn’t want to ruin the surprise. Regardless.” He finished his coffee, then put the cup on the table and tucked the spoon neatly into it. “I’ve come to offer you an alternative.” Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on his knees, then opened his hands with a wide, beatific smile. “Me.”

At Loki’s faintly surprised expression, Thor’s smile grew. “Frigga’s vested me with everything I might need,” he said, “which is actually very little beyond what I already hold. God of fertility, remember? It’s not as though you’d be the first marriage I’ve ever performed. Only the most important one.”

Loki glanced at Aeslin from the corner of his eye. With all the hiccups and stress of the upcoming field school, along with Banner’s increasingly frantic emails and her slight but unavoidable worry about Parker and Selvig romping unsupervised through the wilds of Iceland, he half expected her to burst into tears at this latest development. Instead, he saw that she was regarding Thor with a thoughtful expression.

“You really want this, don’t you?” she said after a long moment. Thor laughed a little, looking down at his now-empty hands.

“Long has it been since I’ve seen my brother truly happy,” he said quietly to her, as if Loki weren’t even in the room. “Far longer than I think I realized.” Thor looked up at Aeslin, his smile a little shy. “It might be selfish, but can you blame me if I’m eager to be a part of that happiness?”

His words caught Loki by surprise, and Loki’s response slipped out before he could stop it.

“Thor, you sentimental _bas-_ ”

Aeslin shoved him none-too-gently in the head before he managed to complete the thought, a move he had seen her use more than a few times on Coulson, and Loki was absurdly grateful for her intervention. She stood and crossed the space between the couch and Thor’s chair in only a few steps, then knelt so that she was roughly eye level with the God of Thunder.

“I can’t blame you at all,” she told Thor. “I would be delighted to have you perform the ceremony.”

Thor let out a breath and a short laugh, his eyes bright. He didn’t seem to know what to do with himself, but after a moment he took Aeslin’s hands again and tugged uselessly at them.

“Don’t kneel to me,” he finally managed. “Not to me. Not to anyone. Ever.”

She gave an understanding laugh as she pulled them both to their feet. “I won’t. I promise.” She indicated his empty cup. “More coffee?”

Thor shook his head. “Loki was right. Though I’m sure Father and Heimdall know where I’ve gone by now, I shouldn’t linger. Things at home are… I’m not sure. There’s an odd feeling in the palace.”

Loki stood, as well. “More so than normal?”

“Perhaps a little. It may be that I haven’t been paying close enough attention; that’s something I’ll need to remedy sooner rather than later.”

A curious look from Loki. “Assassination attempts?”

“Fewer than you’d expect at this time of year,” Thor replied, giving Aeslin a comforting grin when he saw the expression on her face. “None of import, but I really should be getting back. I get the feeling that Father might be getting involved in whatever Mother’s up to, so I need to be there and ready to step in.”

Loki had a sudden, incongruous thought. “Speaking of tentacles,” he said, remembering his bag at last, “I’ve got Sindri’s payment finished.”

Thor perked up immediately. “May I see it?”

Loki nodded as he quickly retrieved the bag from where he’d rested it against the side of the couch. He slipped the box free, then removed his finished project.

The book was worked in a inky, green-black leather. It had been treated so that it glimmered softly, echoing unfathomably deep waters. Tendrils of seaweed and other, darker things, flowed across the cover, worked in a smooth black leather. They seemed to move as Thor shifted the book, turning it to study the spine. Loki had used the onyx gem for a single eye, completely unnoticeable until the light hit it just right, and Thor gave an appreciative grin as he caught sight of it.

“The others are in the box to be returned,” Loki explained. “I wasn’t sure how to use them all, so I ended up just taking one for inspiration and leaving the rest.”

“This is extraordinary,” Thor said, fingers delicate on the leaves of the book. He traced his fingers along Aeslin’s clear lettering on the title page.

A slight bow. “Thank you,” Loki replied. “I hope he finds it a suitable exchange.”

“He will.” A grin as Thor carefully repacked the box. “Not to worry.” Reaching into an inner pocket of his coat, he pulled out a hastily-written and tightly folded sheet of parchment. “This is the list of what we’ll need for your ceremony. I’ve marked what I’ll be bringing. July eighth, yes?”

“By Midgard’s calendar,” Loki confirmed.

Thor nodded. “I’ll make a note of that, make sure I don’t miss it. Perhaps even a trip to the archives to make sure I don’t lose track of days.”

Loki chuckled. “The Thunderer in a library. Will wonders never cease?”

An answering grin. “I hope not.” He nodded to Aeslin, pulling her into a strong hug, then did the same to Loki. “With luck, I’ll be back before the ceremony, but I can make no promises. Tell Banner that he can calm himself. All is well.”

That stopped them for a moment. Aeslin’s brow knit. “We didn’t mention anything about Banner.”

“No need,” Thor replied as he swept the door to the balcony open. “The Guardian is fascinated by the two of you, to be sure, but I will say that he’s found poor Doctor Banner _hilarious_ as of late. It’s both rare and delightful to see Heimdall so entertained. Job well done.”

Aeslin grinned. “Glad to be of service.”

Loki draped an arm around Aeslin’s shoulders as Thor stepped to the middle of the veranda, box under one arm and Mjolnir already spinning. A rush of wind, and he was gone. A moment later, there was a low rumble as the Bifrost snatched him home.

Loki pressed his lips against Aeslin’s hair as his fingers trailed suggestively down her spine.

“So,” he said, voice low. “Back to grading tests, then?”

“Absolutely,” she replied, wriggling loose. Sliding the door shut, she headed back to the dining room, and not toward the back of the house. Loki’s eyes narrowed.

“Hold on,” he said. “You don’t mean _actually_ grading tests, do you?”

She gave him a wink over her shoulder. “Guess you’ll just have to find out,” she said sweetly. “Get in here, loverboy. Academia calls.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback appreciated. Love you all! Happy Wednesday! <3


	10. Chapter 10

Blodgada adjusted the hood of her cloak against a sudden gust of wind, automatically glancing to the side to make sure those in the makeshift carriage next to her were still well-protected. Frigga met her eyes through the bouncing, jostling light from the lamps hung within the cavernous, repurposed wagon and gave her a reassuring smile before turning her attention back to Byleistr, who was slightly behind Blodgada and level with the Queen. The king rode easily near to the wagon, barely needing to guide his beast as it picked its way across the uneven ground. He was deep in conversation with the queen; Helblindi trailed within earshot but was largely keeping his distance from those in the carriage.

The carriage. Blodgada had nearly laughed aloud when she had first seen what Byleistr’s smiths had done to one of the caravan wagons. They had ripped it apart, soldered it back together and upholstered the inside with what appeared to be every blanket, fur and spare cloak in the palace. Low, sturdy seats were fastened to the floor of the creation, and cushions were scattered across nearly every horizontal surface. The sides were draped with what she could swear were tapestries that, until recently, had been adorning a forlorn corner of the Royal Library. A few of the panels were rolled up to allow those inside to see out and to converse with those riding and walking beside the contraption; the remainder of the hangings were neatly tacked down to provide more shelter to those who wished it.

Nearly all of Frigga’s contingent fit in the carriage; a few of her guard ranged beside or behind it, perched awkwardly atop the massive, shaggy _hestur_ that also served as pack animals. Most of the ones that had been chosen were little better than runts, born after the Destruction, but they served their purpose well enough. The Asgardians looked like children on their broad, saddled backs.

Some had adjusted to the animals better than others; Blodgada stifled a sigh as the guard captain nudged her beast to a slightly less arthritic speed, allowing her own _hestur_ to match the Asgardian’s pace. Byleistr and Frigga were still deep in conversation; she did not envy his interaction with her. Admittedly, he was far better at statecraft than she could ever hope to be, and she thought perhaps that he was faring at least a little better than she had. Blodgada knew her part in these particular negotiations; it was to allow Byleistr the opportunity to speak to the Queen in relative privacy, and that meant that Blodgada was required to do a little diplomatic maneuvering herself. As she drew closer to the guard captain ( _Sif_ , she had to remind herself almost constantly), the other woman dipped her head fractionally in greeting. Blodgada made most of a polite nod in return, steeling herself against what might be coming.

“An unusual design,” Sif said after a faintly uncomfortable silence. “I’ve never seen a wagon made completely from metal. The wheels are also much larger than I’m used to.”

“It’s because of the ground,” Blodgada answered. “We had to adapt existing models after the Destruction; the earth was too broken for regular wheels. Our smiths created a wheel design that was larger, lighter and independently mounted. It relieves strain on the axles and allows it higher clearance over the rough patches. It was the only way we could get the caravans through.” Her face took on a curious expression as she glanced over at the repurposed wagon; its wheels rose higher than the average Jotun’s shoulder. “I’m not sure what you mean about the metal, though. What else would you use to build something such as this? Stone would never survive the battering these take, not to mention being prohibitively heavy.”

“Most primitive cultures build wagons from wood,” the Asgardian observed.

“I wouldn’t know anything about primitive cultures,” Blodgada responded coolly, “but I do know that around here, the idea of using wood as a building material is ludicrous.” _Diplomacy_ , she reminded herself when the other’s eyebrow lifted in a movement with which the frost giant was rapidly becoming all too familiar. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes in response and went on, hoping she sounded more patient than she felt. “The few trees we have are tended in orchards. Even if we didn’t need their fruit, which we do, wood is far too unreliable to use for any sort of structure. When a tree dies or falls, it will generally only be used for jewelry, tableware, or perhaps simple toys. Nothing meaningful.”

A slight twinge in her stomach at the near lie; her mind went, unbidden, to the smooth wooden carving she kept on a leather thong around her neck. It was well hidden beneath her armor; she had only a vague idea why she’d fished it from the depths of the small storage chest she kept in her rooms at the palace. Her grandfather had carved the pendant long ago during a hard winter; he had gifted it to her, the wood still pale and new-cut, telling her it was for luck and good fortune. The cold, fierce darkness had taken him soon after. Blodgada had carried it through most of her campaigns but had put it aside after the Destruction. It had not been the time for childish talismans; it was a time for survival. Blodgada had barely remembered that she still had it until she’d gone looking through the chest for something else. Her fingers had moved almost of their own accord, slipping the leather cord around her neck as though it were just another piece of armor. Frigga had come. There was hope at last, and every last piece of luck and good fortune would be needed. It certainly couldn’t hurt.

Sif stared around them thoughtfully as the small caravan wound its way further down the path. Occasionally her beast would stray too close to the wagon and its occupants, and Blodgada would gently and casually nudge her own _hestur_ close enough to startle the Asgardian’s mount. The attempts were purposeful; both knew it, and by the time they reached the edge of what farmland remained, the guard captain ostensibly had her mount under better control.

The first stop on Byleistr’s list was a small grower’s collective about a day’s ride from the palace.  The major purpose of the excursion was to show Frigga some of the difficulties the Jotun had been facing since the Destruction, and crop failure was by far the most dire. Hunting and fishing could only make up so much of the deficit, and game was becoming scarcer by the season. It was hardly news to any of the frost giants in the makeshift caravan, but Byleistr thought it was important for the queen to get a clear, firsthand understanding of their plight.

Byleistr glanced over to her as he helped the queen to alight from her carriage; she gave him a tiny shake of her head to signal that she would remain outside with the guard captain and the other Asgardians. There was no need for her to go into the long, low stone building that had once housed the growers’ market. Blodgada had seen and heard the information in all its depressing detail long before now; there was no need to hear it again, not when there were enemies wandering blithely along the edges of the orchards abutting the abandoned square and its empty fountain.

The captain slid from her mount and handed the reins to one of her soldiers. Her bootheels seemed loud in the cold air as she strolled across the square, eyes flicking from one thing to the next. Her gaze eventually landed on the nearest row of the orchard; the sinuous trunks and white bark of the trees looked eerie in the strange, overcast midday light. She moved closer, curious, and Blodgada followed, unwilling to let the other woman out of sight. Sif stopped in front of one twisted trunk; it stood barely higher than her head.

“I can see why you have trouble building with these,” she said after a long moment. “Trees on our realm are much taller, as are those on the other worlds I’ve visited.”

“Taller trees are for warmer realms,” replied Blodgada, trying to keep the weariness from her voice. “This is what we have.” She left the rest of it unsaid. _It was enough. Until it wasn’t._

The other woman fell silent at last, finally returning to the wagon to rejoin her companions. Only a few moments later, Byleistr, Helblindi, and Frigga emerged from the stone building. The Queen’s face looked a little troubled, but by the time she reached the carriage, her expression had smoothed out. She nodded to Blodgada, then rested her hand on Byleistr’s long enough to clamber back into the relative shelter of the wagon. A groom brought the king’s _hestur_ ; Byleistr mounted smoothly. Helblindi followed suit, and the caravan set off again. Frigga had given no indication how long she would remain on Jotunheim, and there was no time to waste.  

The party wound its way through more cropland on its way to the mines; as they traveled further, though, the fields became sparser, then vanished all together. The air grew slightly warmer as they neared the edge of the Wastes, and to the mines that still tunneled through the unsteady ground. Through the faint cloud of dust that clung to the very air around them, Blodgada could see loading cranes, carts, and neatly stacked crates. It all seemed empty and abandoned, though Blodgada knew it wasn’t. Not completely. Even as they watched, a few figures emerged from the central building to greet the caravan.

“Orchards, grain fields, mining equipment,” Sif mused, almost to herself as she watched the small group of miners approach. She caught Blodgada looking at her and recovered haughtily. “I am simply surprised to find so much industry in a place such as this.”

“Yes, it’s amazing what we primitive races can accomplish,” Blodgada shot back. The guard captain’s eyes narrowed slightly, but the frost giant went on. “We’re neither stupid nor barbarians. How do you think we eat? How do you think we forged the wagon? Where did we get the ore to make it? We didn’t just pick up stones from the ground. We know how to mine. How to grow food. How to _live_ here.” _We know much more than that_ , she thought to herself, but kept her peace. Instead, she sighed and tried to rein in her anger. “We’re no different than other races. Without fuel to burn, we’ll freeze just as easily as you will.”

The captain looked genuinely surprised. “I thought the cold didn’t affect you.”

“What _you_ consider cold doesn’t trouble us at all, but a winter on Jotunheim is _far_ colder than you can possibly fathom. They’re even worse now, what with all the dust blocking the sun’s heat. We don’t use much fuel, but even we need some for forging and for warmth.”

The captain seemed satisfied with that. “No tools, though. Is this mine closed, then?”

“Tools for mining?” It was Blodgada’s turn to be confused. “What tools do you need for mining?”

Sif blinked. “Shovels. Picks. Things to break up the rock. Or do you just crush it in your bare hands like civilized folk?”

“We mine with ice,” Blodgada said, trying not to grit her teeth. She beckoned to a miner hovering near the edge of Byleistr’s conversation with the foreman. A brief consultation, and then the young man led them over to one of the carts. He selected a stone from the top of the pile, surveying it with a critical eye, then placed in on the ground at Sif’s feet. Crouching next to it, he paused a few moments; Blodgada felt the air around him cool. He touched a finger gently to the stone. Ice immediately spread along the surface, finding tiny cracks and rapidly deepening them until the stone broke into three neat pieces. The miner gathered the shards, probing delicately at the parchment-thin veins of ore inside, then smiled benignly at Sif and returned the stones to the cart.

The captain was pale in the early evening light as she watched the miner go. “Can all Jotun do that?” she asked.

“We can all manipulate ice to some extent,” Blodgada shrugged. “I suppose I could do that if I tried, and with enough teaching and practice, I might even be good at it. I have no real idea, though; mining wasn’t the focus of my training.”

“What was?” The words seemed to leave her lips before she thought better of them.

Blodgada grinned in return, knowing full well how unsettling it looked. “War.”

“I was right about you, then. I knew I’d heard your name before.” The captain narrowed her eyes. “You told us you were unarmed.”

“And did I create a weapon?” Blodgada’s voice was louder than it likely should have been, but she was past caring. “Did I make one _single_ blade? Did I threaten you in _any_ way while I was unjustly imprisoned? While I had twenty weapons pointed at me? Do you _honestly_ think us that dishonorable?”

“Is everything all right, Lieutenant?” Byleistr’s voice was calm. She looked over; he and Frigga were regarding her and the guard captain with interest.

“Yes, my liege,” she said with a short bow to cover the flush that came to her face. “We were merely discussing… differences in training.”

“I see.” Byleistr’s eyes flicked from her to the captain, who refused to meet his eyes; instead, she kept her gaze on the ground somewhere between her boots and the All-Mother’s. “The miners have offered to share their meal with us, so we’ll rest here. Only a short while; I want to be at Thorn Peak well before nightfall. Until then, perhaps you can discuss something a little less… troublesome?”

“Of course,” Blodgada replied smoothly, almost certain that he couldn’t hear her grinding her teeth. It became a moot point, however; she and the captain discussed absolutely nothing further. After a short, hushed conversation with Frigga, Sif casually announced that she would be riding in the carriage with the All-Mother. A gangly young guard rode her mount instead, clucking at it cheerfully as though he were driving it to market, not guiding it across a strange, blasted landscape. Blodgada watched him curiously for a few moments, and he looked back at her, pointing at the beast with a shy but pleased grin. A faint smile touched her own lips as she nodded at him, then nudged her mount further up the line. The more space between her and the guard captain, the better.

The caravan eventually reached the trailhead for the path that spidered up the side of Thorn Peak. There they stopped; there was no way to get the wagon up the narrow trail, and though the _hestura_ could easily pick their way up the side of the mountain, Byleistr hadn’t had as much faith in their Asgardian riders. At his signal, Blodgada dismounted, and those around her followed suit. The porters immediately went to work; a few began to organize the mounts in a sheltered spot nearby. Others retrieved crates of the translucent, flammable rock that served as fuel and set about clearing a space for a fire. Most of the party would be staying at the base of the peak; there seemed to be an unspoken truce for the moment, and Byleistr intended to capitalize on it.

Once those that were remaining were settled in relative comfort, Frigga nodded to Byleistr. The king beckoned to Helblindi, who would be accompanying them to the peak in his office of crown prince. As Blodgada watched, Sif fell into step behind Helblindi, clearly intent on guarding her queen. She didn’t even spare a glance at Blodgada as she went past, instead matching her paces as best she could to Helblindi’s leisurely, familiar prowl. The prince’s eyes flicked to Blodgada’s, but again, she shook her head fractionally. She had thought it best to stay with those at the camp, ready to stand between them if necessary and had told Byleistr as much. Any other reason she might have for not scaling the summit was merely secondary to keeping the peace.

“Lieutenant.” Frigga’s voice drifted over on the wind, and Blodgada glanced over in surprise to where the queen stood. Adjusting her cloak against the cold, she gave Blodgada a curious look. “Won’t you be joining us?”

“I’ve seen it, thank you,” Blodgada snapped in return and without thinking. Instantly regretting her words, she reluctantly continued as she took a few steps toward Frigga.  “I was there. The night of the Destruction, I stood on this peak and watched it happen.”

Frigga’s shock was evident, but her voice was kind when she spoke again. “I’m so sorry; I had no idea. Of course you wouldn’t want to come.”

Was that pity in her eyes? Blodgada straightened. She would not show weakness in front of the All-Mother. “It’s all right,” she said, handing off her _hestur_ ’s reins to the nearest porter. She joined the group; Byleistr gave her an appraising look, but said nothing.

As they ascended, Blodgada found herself lagging behind. Though she was determined, she had to force herself to climb the last few meters. By the time she made it to the overlook perched just below the true peak, the queen was already staring out across the Waste in silence. Byleistr and Helblindi stood a few steps away, allowing Frigga as much space as they could on the narrow outcropping. Blodgada came to a halt next to Byleistr and reluctantly lifted her eyes to survey the landscape before her.

The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows and throwing the field of boulders that stretched below into sharp relief. The crevices were rivers of ink against the bare ground, some dark but a few blood red. The only sound was the wind howling mournfully across the peak. As the silence grew deeper, Byleistr reached out and gently touched Blodgada’s arm. Startled, she met his eyes in silence. He inclined his head toward the queen, his expression intent. Honed by years of following his lead on the battlefield, she read his meaning in mere seconds. A nod, and then she walked a few steps closer to Frigga. The Queen seemed fixated on the scene in front of her, and Blodgada deliberately scuffed a boot as she neared in order to announce her presence.

“It touched down over there,” she began quietly, without preamble. She gestured to the center of the Wastes, where a vast, undulating sea seemed to spread outward from the Bifrost’s impact point. What appeared to be ripples in a pond was actually glass, superheated and rapidly cooled in Jotunheim’s frigid atmosphere. “By the time I got to the top, it was already too late too see much of anything. It was bright. So bright, and there was a cloud of dust that grew larger by the second, swallowing everything in its path. All I could see were the mountains. Barely.” A breath. “Laugar was the first mountain to fall. Skaro was next. Then the Fangs.” She pointed to what was left of each in turn, her mind filling in the image of sharp peaks where now there was only rubble.

“Over there used to be grazing land for _uxuma_ , animals used for food. Most of them died in the destruction, along with their drovers. Since it was more important to rescue people, by the time we got around to the _uxuma_ herds, they’d been dead and rotting for weeks. Wasted, and all because there weren’t enough of us to get to the carcasses before the scavengers did.” A sweeping gesture toward the south. “That was farmland. It’s nothing but bare rock now; most of the soil is in the air these days. It’s funny, if you think about it. What used to nourish our crops now chokes the life out of almost everything we try to grow. Over there…” Her voice faltered, and she lowered her hand, clenching it into a fist at her side. Her fingernails dug into the palm of her hand, and she focused on the ache as she went on.

“Those ruins are all that’s left of where I lived. I was on this mountain because I had been given a vital task to complete, but for all intents and purposes, the buildings that once stood there were my home. I ate, slept, worked there with students and masters alike. All friends. They were there with me because they wanted to be. I taught them. I trained them. They were doing what I’d told them to do. Duties I had given them, and duties that they _continued_ to do until the second the walls came down on top of them. They died doing what I had asked of them, and all I could do was watch.” Her voice was cold. “We couldn’t even recover all the bodies.

“Do you have any idea what that was like?” she said, unable or unwilling to stop herself. “We know war, you and I. I’ve been a warrior for far longer than I was ever a lady. People have died under my watch before. I’ve sent soldiers into battle knowing that many of them would never come home again.” She shook her head, aware of the heavy silence around her; the others stood like statues. “It was different. It was for a purpose. They knew it was for a common purpose, and we all knew that whatever it was, it was worth dying for. It was a choice they made. A choice we all made. But this?” She could not hide the bitterness in her voice. “There was no reason. There is nothing we’ve found that would have led to this, no matter how hard we have searched, no matter how many questions we have asked into the empty sky. We had no warning, and even if we had, there was nothing we could have done to stop it. _Nothing_. Countless people died that night. Others perished in the days and weeks afterward because we couldn’t get to them in time. More of us die every day. Sickness. Starvation. Earth and sky turned against us, and we can no longer even grow the food we need to survive.” She turned to Frigga at last, voice dropping to a whisper. “We did not break the treaty, All-Mother, but it seems that in the end, it does not matter. We die anyway. Slowly. Day by day, piece by piece, and no one will tell us _why_.”

She did not wait for an answer; Blodgada no longer had the stomach for any platitudes the Queen might speak. She merely turned and walked back down the path, unable to stay on the peak a moment longer. Once out of sight of the outcropping, she stopped, resting in the quiet that followed her. Light flickered below, tiny sparks at the base of the trail, and she watched them, arms folded and with her back pressed against the unyielding stone behind her. After a time, she heard footsteps crunching against the scree.

“Lieutenant Blodgada. Daughter of a broken world, carrying strength and pain in equal measure.”

She raised her head, angry words springing to her lips, but Frigga’s face held nothing but sorrow. The All-Mother’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears in the slowly falling dusk; she did not seem to notice them as she gave Blodgada a sad smile. “Byleistr was right to trust you.”

There was a faint scraping sound as the king led the other two down the path; Frigga straightened as he neared.

“I am ready to return to the palace,” she said to Byleistr. “I have seen enough, I think.”

“Perhaps you have,” he replied, not unkindly, “but we are far from finished.”

Frigga inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment, then set off down the path. Byleistr followed; he was trailed by Helblindi and Sif. Blodgada allowed the guard captain to get nearly out of sight before she finally turned and headed down toward the firelight.

***

The caravan had been gone less than two days, but it seemed like an eternity had passed by the time Blodgada stepped back onto the palace grounds. True to Byleistr’s word, they had taken a path that wended along the edge of the Wastes to ensure that Frigga saw the worst of the damage her son had caused. Leading her own _hestur_ to the stables, Blodgada handed the beast into the groom’s capable hands and made her way through the hallways to the tiny council room Byleistr had given her as an office.

To her surprise, Vornir was there waiting for her. She smiled in spite of herself.

“Well, what honor is this?” she asked. “The leader of the rift station coming to give me a report personally? I’m flattered.”

Vornir rolled his eyes as he passed her a stack of neatly-tied parchment. “Well, fascinating as it is to watch someone nap, eat, read and have conversations we can’t hear with people we can’t see, even _I_ have to tear myself away sometimes. You’re shocked, I can tell, and may I just mention, for the All-Father, his life seems _exceptionally_ boring. Surprisingly so.”

“You haven’t found what’s disturbing him?” Blodgada asked as she untied the knot that bound the pages.

“Not exactly,” Vornir admitted. “I can tell you that he doesn’t sleep well, but we’re actually pretty evenly split on whether whatever’s bothering him is keeping him up at night, or whether his lack of sleep is what’s making him so irritable. Our conclusion so far is that frankly, we have no idea.” He flopped into the chair across from her, running his fingers along the patriarchal lines beneath his cheekbones.

“We’ll figure it out,” she replied soothingly. Then, with a carefully neutral voice, she went on. “Any sign of the younger son?”

“No,” Vornir said with a sour expression, “and we’ve looked everywhere. I’m almost willing to say he’s not in the palace at all. Still keeping our eyes open, of course, and there’s a list of locations he _hasn’t_ been in the third section of the report. You did say to be thorough.”

“This section?” Blodgada asked with a faint twist in lips as she tilted the parchment toward him. The margins were heavily decorated with twining vines and birds; Blodgada recognized a few of the birds from her time on Asgard. The drawings were small, but detailed and abundant.

Vornir grinned sheepishly. “That’s the one. I think Himinglaeva’s getting bored, too.”

“Welcome to ninety percent of military life,” Blodgada said wryly. “It’s the other ten percent you need to worry about.”

“So far the only exciting bit is Midgard,” Vornir said. “To be honest, I think that’s what’s keeping us all sane.”

“Really.” Blodgada skimmed the sheets of parchment rapidly; she would study it in more detail when she had a moment. “Anything fun?”

“All of it?” he offered with an answering grin. “It is one _strange_ realm, I’ll tell you that much. Cities built of glass. Forests full of trees taller than any living thing I’ve ever seen. Water. So much water. What do they do with it all? From what we can tell, over half the realm is under water.”

She glanced obviously at the map tacked to the wall. “Midgard _is_ mostly water. We knew that already.”

He followed her gaze. “Right. Maps.” He airily waved a hand as if to brush off his oversight, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. “That’s not even the _strangest_ part, though. There’s this Midgardian. We’ve all seen him, and I say him because I’m almost certain it’s the same one. Nearly certain. It’s hard to tell; he doesn’t always look the same.” Blodgada raised a brow, and Vornir gestured to his own face. “Hairy sometimes, other times not so much, but it’s always him. I think it’s always him.” He seemed to realize what he sounded like, and with a slight chuckle, he continued. “He’s got a companion. It makes it _so_ much easier to tell the difference when there are two of them.”

“So you’ve adopted a mortal,” Blodgada said absently as she turned another page. “What makes him so interesting? There are plenty of other rifts to Midgard; surely there are other things to see.”

“That’s just it.” His tone dropped to a whisper. “We’ve looked through lots of different rifts, and he’s been in more than one.”

Blodgada’s eyes flicked up to Vornir. “Different rifts,” she said flatly.

“Yes, and they’re not anywhere _near_ each other.” He paused. “I mean, I don’t really know what near and far are to them, but they just have those little legs. How far can they travel at a stretch? We’ve see him through rifts thousands of steps apart.”

“You’re sure it’s the same person?”

“I think so. He and his companion have these poles and cubes with them; they set them up around the rifts. We can’t really hear them, no more than we can hear Odin, but…” Vornir’s voice was speeding up in his excitement.

It clicked at last, and Blodgada put down the parchment. “You think they’re rift hunters. Like us.” She suddenly wasn’t sure whether to be impressed with Vornir’s Midgardians or worried about them. “Have you been mapping the sightings?”

“I have.” Vornir shrugged. “I can’t speak for the others. I note when and where I see him, and I’ve asked everyone else to do so as well, but I don’t think they all recognize him. It’s been inconsistent at best.”

She tapped the desk in front of her as she considered for a moment. “I want his sightings mapped out and dated,” she said at last, “along with any other circumstances you can identify.”

“As good as done.” He hesitated briefly, and Blodgada gave him a questioning look.

“Something wrong?”

A shrug. “I can’t predict where he’ll show up next,” Vornir said. “It might take a while before everyone can get a good look at him.”

“Alas,” Blodgada said, casually using one finger to turn a highly decorated page toward her apprentice. “If _only_ you had someone on your staff who could create incredibly detailed representations of what she can see through a watchrift.”

Vornir looked at the parchment for a brief, confused second, and then his face cleared. “Of course,” he said. “I’ll get Himinglaeva on it right away.”

“Good idea,” she replied with a faint smirk. “Add him _and_ his friend to the reports. It might be nothing, but as I said. There is never too much information at a time like this.”

“Understood.” Vornir rose, counting on his fingers in a makeshift list. “Decipher Odin’s mood. Track down his sons, especially the younger one. Follow the only-sometimes-hairy Midgardian. Anything else you wa-”

He was interrupted by a pounding on the door. At a signal from Blodgada, Vornir flung it open to reveal a runner from the rift station. The young woman breathed raggedly with one hand on the doorframe; Blodgada stepped forward and quickly pulled her into the room. Vornir shut the door behind her.

“What’s wrong?” Blodgada asked, steadying the young woman. “Are you injured?”

“We lost him,” the runner gasped in answer, her panicked eyes darting between Blodgada and Vornir.

“Who?” The window of the office faced away from the courtyard; Blodgada closed the shutters in a quick motion and pushed the messenger into an empty chair as she spoke.

“Odin. We can’t find him.”

“Five minutes,” Vornir said in a long-suffering tone of voice. “I turn my back for five minutes, and you lose the All-Father?”

Blodgada waved him to silence with a stern look, then turned her attention to the runner. The woman stumbled to explain. “He’s nowhere in the palace. By the time we realized he wasn’t there, he’d been gone long enough that we had no idea where to start looking. We’ve looked everywhere. I mean, we’re still trying to map any stable watchrifts outside the palace complex, but the city is enormous.” She twisted her hands. “We don’t see him _any_ where.”

Blodgada smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. “It’s probably all right. We’ve lost track of the older son once or twice, and he’s always turned up again. Odin will, too.”

“That’s what we thought,” said the runner, “but then Yfrid saw a contingent of soldiers near that big golden dome you told us about, and-”

“Oh, _Hel_.” Blodgada lunged to her feet, an idea coalescing in a flash of thought. She crossed the room in two steps and yanked open the door. “Find Byleistr,” she said, pointing at one of the startled Jotun keeping watch in the hallway. She then gestured to the other. “You, with me.” Her boots rang on the cold stone. “We need to-”

A flash of light blazed in the darkness, followed rapidly by shouts of alarm. Her stomach dropped. “Stay here,” she ordered as she took the stairs to the courtyard two and three at a time.  As she strode through the archway, the panicked sounds of the palace staff gave way to a single voice laced not with fear, but with anger.

“...needlessly cruel and com _plete_ ly unwarranted,” Byleistr was saying. He was livid; Blodgada could tell that much from the way the words ground from his lips. “The All-Mother promised that the Bifrost would be kept from the palace grounds. We were also told that she informed you of this requirement, and yet here you stand. Were we led to believe these promises in vain, or do you drive my people into a panic on a mere whim?”

Blodgada came around a final corner and skidded to a stop as the scene opened up before her. There, standing on a familiar, still-glowing circle etched into the courtyard ground, stood Odin All-Father. His golden armor shone against the grey and black of the ruined palace around him, and he held his spear firmly in one hand. Behind him stood a contingent of his elite guard, armed to the teeth but unmoving.

Byleistr stood before the All-Father, tall and unafraid. His face was tight with barely controlled rage. Helblindi stood only a step away from his brother, knife drawn but hidden from Odin by the angle of his body. The palace guard was ranged tightly around their king and his heir. Her place was among that guard, and so Blodgada walked silently across the courtyard toward the two groups.

“You will not dare to call my queen a liar,” Odin said, expression nearly unreadable behind his helmet and golden eyepatch. “Nor will you dare to dictate the All-Father’s actions.”

“If the All-Father’s actions harm my people in any way,” Byleistr responded in the same cold tone, “then yes. I will dare.”

Blodgada softly lay a hand on Helblindi’s arm as she took her place next to him, pushing the knife further out of sight. “Put it away,” she said, voice barely audible. “If there is to be war, it will not be on our shoulders.” He glared at her; she did not back down, and after a moment, he slid it into his belt, near the small of his back. Not the scabbard, Blodgada noticed, but it would have to do. He gave her an irritated look before turning back to Odin and his brother.

“Please accept my apologies for the lapse in communication.” Frigga’s voice broke the silence as she entered the courtyard flanked by Sif and one other. Her calm voice and elegant manner was in contrast to the speed with which she approached the two kings. “If your majesty would be so kind as to let us know the best way to assuage the fears of your citizens, we will be happy to do so.”

Without breaking eye contact with the All-Father, Byleistr lifted his chin. “Your apology is accepted, All-Mother, but I _must_ stress the importance of keeping the Bifrost out of the city. As per our agreement.”

Frigga dipped her head graciously; she came to a halt next to Odin, who had not moved an inch. He stood expectantly, and after an interminable silence, Byleistr began again.

“Well met, Odin All-Father,” he said smoothly. “I bid you welcome to my home.”

Odin answered politely, his voice dull as stone but not missing a beat. The greetings and formalities seemed to stretch on forever. In her spot next to Helblindi, Blodgada made sure to keep her back straight and her eyes ahead. Odin did not give the slightest indication that he recognized her, regardless of their earlier meeting; in fact, he never even spared her a glance. Still, Blodgada felt that he glared at her through the whole awkward meeting, and by the time Odin and his retinue followed Sif and the All-Mother to join the rest of the Asgardians, she was exhausted.

Frigga had requested her presence in the negotiations. Byleistr had agreed, and while she would support her king’s decision, Blodgada also realized that she would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit how much she missed the vicious but at least predictable wasteland outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hrk! i'm so sorry for the late posting. today got away from me a bit. :D feedback appreciated! love you all! happy (what's left of) wednesday!


	11. Chapter 11

_The alarm goes off far too early, startling her awake. She fumbles for her phone and silences it almost immediately. Glancing over, she sees that Loki has not woken; he stills sprawls regally across his half of the bed and most of hers, drowned in sleep and completely at peace. She smiles faintly, then slips from the bed to prepare for her day._

_He is up by the time she is finished; she makes her way down the hall to the quiet scuffs of noise in the living room. As she enters, he looks up from where he is leaning over her messenger bag. A grin drifts sleepily across his face as he sees her. He straightens, a study of light and shadow in the dimly lit space, gesturing to the bag on the ottoman._

_“Chargers, snacks, backup music player, extra caffeine,” he tells her._

_Her lip quirks. “Didn’t happen to add songs to my roadtrip playlist, did you?”_

_Most of an innocent grin. “Maybe two or three. Or twelve. I also packed the grey hoodie on the off chance you need a hug before I see you again. Alternatively, you could prop it up on the seat next to you and talk to it when you get bored. It is an awfully long drive.”_

_“Not to mention the nostalgia factor.” She gives him grin and gets a wink in response. “Just like old times, right?”_

_“Maybe.” He huffs out a laugh. “It would appear that I’m becoming_ quite _the sentimental bastard in my old age.” He reaches into the pocket of the jeans he seems to have pulled on almost as an afterthought. “Hair? I know how much you love driving with the windows down, and the weather seems as though it’s planning to cooperate.” He glances toward the windows and the glow of London’s night sky. “Once the sun comes up, anyway.”_

_“If you’d be so kind,” she answers and does not miss the pleased look that flashes across his face. He settles on the couch with his back against the arm, and she sits on the cushion in front of him, framed by his long legs. He chuckles a little as he gets to work._

_“Norns, if those at court could see me now.” His fingers tangle skillfully in her hair. “It’s one thing to gird the Valkyrie Queen for battle or ceremony. Quite another to do this just because.”_

_“You mean you didn’t do this for all your women?”_

_“No,” he says around a mouthful of hairpins, wrestling stray tendrils ruthlessly down. “Just the horses. Alas, no one else appreciated my talent; they were all after something else in the end.”_

_She nudges him firmly, and he nudges back with one knee while he anchors her hair with pins and elastics. After a moment, he strokes his fingers down her neck as he always does to signal that he’s finished. They linger a little longer than usual, then drop to her hips to boost her up. She stands smoothly and goes to the door to fetch her shoes; he follows her to the entryway and leans against the doorframe as he watches her. With a final pull on her bootlaces, she straightens fully._

_“Ready?” he asks, and she nods._

_“I think so.” She is not sure, to be honest, but she believes she now understands how a greyhound must feel before its first race, all coiled energy and anticipation. The preparations have been exhausting. Doctor Stewart has already taken the first load; her trip today is to take the remainder of the equipment and supplies to the site, a full day’s drive and a ferry ride away. Between here and there is the pre-dawn loading of last-minute items onto the truck she’ll drive from here to Thurso, and then the rest of the week will be a cyclone of activity as she and Stewart settle everything and prepare for the students’ arrival._

_Loki seems to sense her mood, as always, and he reaches forward, tracing her jaw with feather-light fingers before turning away to grab her bags. She shrugs on a jacket as he returns. He slips the strap of her messenger bag over her head and settles it on her shoulder, then tugs her forward into a hug. She rests her head against his bare chest, his heartbeat as familiar as her own by now; he rests his lips on her hair as he tightens his arms around her. After a moment, she pulls away and gives him a light kiss._

_“Off you go, then,” he says, smiling down at her. “I’ll see you in a few days, after I’ve finished sorting everything out down here and gathered all your wayward students. Drive safe.”_

_“I promise,” she replies as she traces her fingers along his chest. “Are you going back to sleep? It’s still awfully early.”_

_“Probably not,” he admits, “but I’ll find something to do. Books. Contracts. Trolling Barton’s Tumblr account. The possibilities are endless.” His caresses her cheekbone, face suddenly intent. “I’m proud of you, little Valkyrie,” he says, using a nickname she hasn’t heard in almost a year. “It shouldn’t matter to you one bit whether I am or not, of course. You’ve done this all yourself._ For _yourself. You continue to amaze me, love, and for what it’s worth?” A trace of a smile crosses his lips. “That’s not easy.”_

_She laughs. “I’ll remember that,” she tells him, and he taps her softly on the nose._

_“Do,” he says, “because it’s the truth.” He lifts her chin, pulling her into a sweet, thorough kiss. “I love you. Call me when you get there.”_

_“I love you,” she replies, “and I will.” She picks up her duffel bag, slinging it over her shoulder, and lets herself quietly out into the deserted hallway. Risking a glance behind her, she is not disappointed to see that the door is still open; Loki stands in the entrance to their home watching her go. Their eyes meet immediately, and he gives her that familiar, infuriating smile as he makes a stern but gentle shooing motion with his hands. A shake of her head, both at herself and at him, and then she is around the corner and on her way._

_***_

She arrived at Orkney in the early evening, following her GPS to the clutch of self-catering cottages she and Doctor Stewart had reserved at the first of the year. They were the same ones he had rented every field season for the last decade, and he had told her that they had nearly become a summer home to him. _Old man’s whimsy,_ he’d said somewhere in the endless chain of emails and messages that had stretched between them and the landlord, but as she neared the scatter of buildings, she understood the appeal. A long, low stone building stood at the relative center of the group, surrounded by slightly smaller cottages. She parked the truck near the largest building; Stewart waved from a rocker on the porch as she gratefully hopped from the cab and onto the crushed stone turnaround.

“Welcome!” he called as he stood, arms outstretched. “So good to see you! I was just about to get worried.” He clasped one of her hands in both of his, a wide smile on his face. “I see you found the place all right, though.”

“It’s gorgeous.” A faint sea breeze ruffled her hair, and she turned her face briefly to the sky to breathe it in. “Sorry I haven’t been able to make it up before now. I don’t know how you taught and did all this on your own.”

“Ah,” came the reply. “That’s the secret. I never _did_ do it alone. Always found the help I needed, and you will, too.” He lifted his chin to indicate the parked truck. “Have you eaten?”

Her grin was a little abashed. “Not recently.”

“Youth,” he said with a shake of his head; he lifted his chin at the vehicle. “Make sure that’s locked up, then we’ll go fetch dinner and make some plans.”

***

They decided on a local fish and chip shop for takeout; Stewart drove while she sent a message to Loki with a promise to call later. Dinner acquired, they returned to the main house.

“I’ll give you a tour of the other cottages after we’re done here,” Stewart said after they had settled bags, drinks and napkins at the large dining table. He was off again almost at once, retrieving maps and diagrams from a desk in the other room and stacking them in an untidy pile on an empty chair. “This will be the center of activity, for the most part,” he explained as they sat down; he opened his bag and took out his first paper-wrapped bundle, and she followed suit. “I’ve got my room all sorted out, but you’ll have the pick of the ones at the other end of the house. The one you’re not in will get used for storage. Space can be at a premium in here, especially around mealtime. We’ve still got a full house, yes?”

“Yes,” she responded. “A couple of last-minute changes, just like you said there would be, but as far as I know the plan is still for the full two dozen, plus Loki. He’ll email me the final tally before they leave London on Saturday.”

“See?” Stewart’s smile was kind. “Help already, and damned _com_ petent help, if I’m any judge. Lucky duck.”

Visions of flaming pancakes, scorched socks and deadly grace in battle tumbled over themselves in her brain, and she gave a tired laugh as she picked up her drink. “Most of the time.”

Stewart gave her a canny look. “Exactly how long have you been up, my dear?”

“Two this morning,” she replied, scrubbing a hand across her face. “Had the truck finished and was on my way by four.”

He glanced at the clock ticking quietly on the sideboard, then back at her with new respect. “ _Homo sapiens superior_ ,” he finally said, raising his drink in a toast. “I salute you.”

She lifted her bottle in return with half a smirk on her lips. “If you must.”

Stewart leaned back in his chair with a matching expression. “Have any of your students figured it out yet? Any recognize you?”

“A couple last semester. A few more this time. I thought it would be the other way around, but I guess the coverage of the post-invasion rebuild last winter didn’t do me any favors.” Aeslin searched through her bag for the last few chips. “My algorithm spiked just before the holiday break.”

His brow went up, and she laughed a little. “Stark. Iron Man. He tracks all the internet searches done for the various members of the team; he claims it’s for research. I say it’s to protect his ego. We haven’t decided who’s right, and the arm wrestles never seem to settle it.”

“End in ties, do they?”

“Not exactly.”

“I see.” Stewart covered a smile as he crumpled the wrapper to his fish. “Your students, though. Any problems? I didn’t think to ask you before now.”

“Had a couple of dropouts last semester over it,” she answered easily, “and one tried to blackmail me back in January. Brooks shut him down pretty hard, but it actually didn’t go very far. New York is basically public knowledge; there’s really very little that went down that’s still classified.”  

He shook his head before he finished his drink. “I’m not even going to ask how you know that.”

“That’s probably wise.” She gathered bags and stray wrappers, tossing the whole mess into the wastebin and washing her hands at the sink.

“Though I will venture one guess that it has quite a bit to do with the small but significant differences between your published CV and the one on file in Brooks’ office.”

A gentle twist of her lip as she sat back down. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Don’t worry. I’m retired.”

Stewart scoffed as he moved the stack of maps and books to the smooth but weathered tabletop. His look took in the surrounding room, the cottages, and himself. “Is there such a thing?”

She didn’t answer, merely shrugging as she looked at the pile. “What’s first?” she asked instead, and Stewart’s face lit up.

“Let’s see to the truck while we’ve still got light. After that we’ll go over the major plans, unless you’ve passed out from exhaustion by then.”

“Better hurry,” she admitted. “I’m working on three and a half hours of sleep.”

“Right.” He stood and gestured for her to follow him out the front door. “We’ll talk while we unload; we can put off the interior tours until you’re feeling more up to it. You won’t be seeing much of them, and frankly I don’t think the students will, either, once we get going. It will just be a place to sleep. Daily review and meals are always at the main house.” He slowed as they approached the truck, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “Historically, I mean. We can certainly adapt to your style, if it’s better.”

“Why mess with a good thing?” she asked as she unlocked the trailer hitched to the back of the department’s ancient Land Rover. “I’m not going to throw decades of experience out the window just to make myself look impressive. It’s pointless. I can adapt next season. Or the next. Or never.” She shrugged as he stepped forward and pulled the first storage tub from the top of the pile. Handing it off to her, he reached for the next, dropping it onto the first. She nodded, and he added a third, then took one for himself. They worked their way back to the house carefully; he led the way with her a few steps behind. There was a sudden scuff. She saw Stewart begin to fall, and she acted without thinking, flicking out one hand in a practiced motion.

He recovered his feet after only a gentle push, and then he turned back to look at her. His expression encompassed his surprise, gratitude and the four storage bins of archaeological tools that hovered neatly in the air between them. Not taking her eyes from his, she slowly released the tubs. They drifted to the crushed stone of the driveway with a only a whisper of sound, and Stewart looked at them for a long, quiet minute.

“Impressive,” he said at last; she gave him a slight smile, memories of the Leviathan in New York flitting through her mind.

“I suppose.” She rubbed at the sharp ache behind her temple with a muffled sigh. “Let’s get this load inside, and then I need you to point me to the painkillers.”

***

Aeslin woke as the sun peeked through the curtains, stretching lazily in the bed. It was smaller than the one at home; though more than big enough for her, she made a mental note to prepare to get slept on for the foreseeable future. The nights Loki spent curled into a ball and smashed up against her spine had become fewer and further between as the weeks and months passed. His current preferred position fit neatly within the “affectionate but determined cephalopod” category, and she’d woken more than one morning trapped under an avalanche of sheets and frost giant. Not a bad place to be, all things considered, but it did give her a bit of pause. She made another note to set her alarm for a half an hour earlier than she would need. He wasn’t in the habit of making her escapes easy, and a smaller bed would only give him that much more of an edge.

She smiled a little as she headed toward the en suite. If anything, he’d gotten more open since the engagement; it was almost as though he’d given himself permission to hold nothing back. She would occasionally catch him studying her with a sort of grin on his face, and Aeslin would be struck by the difference between the Loki she knew now and the cool, arrogant prince that had faced her down the first day they’d met.

She sent him a brief message as she went to join Stewart for breakfast. Neither ate much, and he gave her a brief tour of the other buildings as they sipped tea from travel mugs. Afterward, he drove them out to the site. They were only a few miles from the headland, and the wind off the sea fluttered the map Stewart unrolled onto the folding table he’d pulled from the back of the truck. They anchored the corners with stones as he outlined the area; she was familiar with the previous seasons’ work but allowed him to lead her back and forth across the site. They worked through lunchtime, discussing potential expansions and the plan for the season, and it was well past noon by the time they returned to the cottages.

The next couple of days passed quickly; they spent most of their time assembling excavation kits for the volunteers who didn’t have them, setting up the other cottages and shopping for enough groceries to feed over two dozen people. That trip took nearly a full day, and by the end, both swore that they were delegating the next trip to the other. Stewart just gave her a serene smile and invoked seniority before tipping his fedora over his eyes and settling back for a nap on the porch swing, and she laughed and went to sort out the week’s groceries.

Loki texted her early the next morning to let her know that he was on his way with a full complement of participants and baggage. He kept up a running patter as the day went on, making observations about his companions _(so MUCH baggage, Kindlesdaughter, and how your species at large survives to adulthood continues to confound me)_ , to their thankfully infrequent stops along the way _(Norns below, it’s like trying to herd a flock of adorable but thoroughly inebriated kittens),_ to the occasional confession _(Have I mentioned what a delightful traveling companion you are? There’s no comparison. There’s also no substitute for good hygiene. That’s… not related, by the way. Are we there yet? I miss you. Road trips just aren’t the same.)._

They arrived late in the evening, having caught the last ferry to island. The small caravan of vehicles made its way up the winding drive to the cottages. Once they’d stopped, Loki emerged from the driver’s seat of the last SUV. He lifted a hand in greeting; she waved back from the rocker, and he smiled as he made his way to the porch. The others exited their vehicles and milled about for a moment before also approaching the house. Loki shook Stewart’s outstretched hand, then gave Aeslin a friendly nod.

“Delivered safely as promised,” he told both of them in a professional tone. “Seventeen students, eight volunteers, including the one who neglected to tell me that he _didn’t_ miss his flight after all, one service dog and a full set of _quite_ intriguing personal habits. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a very _very_ long walk. Don’t hold dinner.” A subtle stroke of his thumb across Aeslin’s hand where it rested on the porch railing and half a bow to Stewart, and then he strolled casually but rapidly around the corner of the house and into the field beyond. Stewart watched him go with a twitch in his lips.

“Does he know where he’s going?”

A shrug. “He’ll figure it out.”

***

Loki reappeared a few hours later; the central building still buzzed with activity. Most of the group was gathered around the large trestle table in the main room. She glanced up as he entered, and he gave her a bit of a smile as he dropped onto the bench across from her, armor firmly back in place. She was in the midst of room assignments, and it was only a matter of moments before he was up again, helping to shuffle an endless supply of luggage into the outlying buildings. It was well after midnight by the time he was able to retrieve his own bags; the others were all finally settled. Aeslin sat cross-legged at the head of the bed while he kicked off his shoes and starting unpacking. He tucked clothing into drawers and the wardrobe, then neatly slid his bags under the bed.

He sat on the end of the mattress, relaxing backward in a controlled fall and allowing his head to come to rest on her lap. She traced her hands up the sides of his face as a blissful smile came to his lips.

“This place has already been very good for you, little one,” he said. “You’re becoming more radiant by the moment; if this keeps up you’ll be nothing short of transcendent by the time the season’s over. Luminous. Ethereal. I’ll have a hard time keeping you attached to earth.”

A gentle scoff. “Not necessary. The mud and rain will do it for you. Fieldwork is nothing if not glamorous, you know.”

He closed his eyes with a contented sigh; when he didn’t respond for a long moment, she gave him a slight jostle. “Tired?”

“Hideously,” he replied, voice a low hum.

“Then we should get some rest. We’ve got a pretty early start tomorrow.”

A faint pout crossed his face, and she smirked a little as she brushed her fingers across the line that appeared between his brows.

“You’re in the field now, son. No more sleeping in for you.” Another jostle. “Come on, sweetheart. My leg’s losing feeling.”

“It’s not that,” he said. “Think of it. You. Me. Our first night in a romantic cottage by the sea. _Loads_ of furniture in here for us to christen, and it’s all I can do to keep my eyes open. It just doesn’t seem _fair_.” He opened his eyes, sighing theatrically as he sat up. Coming to his feet, he crossed the room in a few steps and looked out across the starlit landscape for a moment or two before closing the curtains.

She shook her head as she stood as well, pulling the covers back and retrieving her pajamas from under her pillow. “Truly romantic, what with the 85 year old man sleeping at the other end of the house.”

A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. “Well, then,” he said as he snatched the tank top from her hands and tossed it over his shoulder. “I guess we’ll have to be quiet.”

***

Another day, another continent.

To be strictly honest, it wasn’t another continent completely. Just a different, fairly large land mass. They had only been in Wales for a few days; the hotel that stood several kilometers outside of Corwen didn’t quite feel like home yet. They had spent the day wandering fruitlessly around the Denbigh Moors, looking in vain for an anomaly that had been there only the day before. It happened on occasion; a blip on the screen one moment would vanish the next. It was invariably frustrating, and they had stayed out late into the evening to make sure it was well and truly gone. They had eventually returned to their lodgings, and once the equipment had been unloaded and stowed, Parker had fallen into a dead sleep.

It seemed as though only a couple hours had passed when he was jolted awake. A brief inspection of the clock next to his bed showed that he was wrong; he’d been asleep for nearly four. He blinked woozily, finally focusing on Selvig’s frantic face, hovering ghostlike above his in the dim light of the hotel room.

“We need to go.” His voice was hushed and urgent, eyes intent.

Parker came fully awake in a split second, already reaching for his covers. “Where? What’s wrong?” He looked wildly at the window, then at the still-locked door. “What’s going on?” Automatically reaching for the lamp on the nightstand, he froze at the last second, fingers on the switch. “Wait. Are we being watched?”

Selvig looked up from where he was throwing clothes into his bag. “What? No. There’s no danger. We just need to go.” He stopped long enough to gesture to his forehead. “It hit me. It finally _hit_ me, and I’m an idiot for not seeing it sooner.” He rapidly zipped his duffel bag, then turned to the neat collection of field gear they’d stacked in the corner. “Change of clothes, maybe, and we’ll need some equipment. The datapads and laptop especially, and maybe a few sensors.” He seemed to think for a moment, then shrugged. “Hell, just bring it all. Can’t hurt.”

Parker was already pulling on his jeans. “Do we need to check out? I can run down to the front desk.”

“No,” came the reply. “Hopefully we’ll be back by tomorrow night. We’ve got good eyes, you and I, but I want another set, and I know just the ones I’m after.”

A nod as Parker yanked a hoodie over his head, then reached for his shoes with a bit of a grin on his face. “Please tell me I at least get to hear the theory first.”

Selvig gave him a matching smile.

Then he told him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> loki's a bedhog. fight me.
> 
> feedcrack appreciated, as always. love you all! happy half-price chocolate day! <3


	12. Chapter 12

They switched drivers somewhere around Glasgow in order to allow Selvig some sleep. Parker was still getting the hang of driving on what he still firmly believed was the wrong side of the road, and he found himself reciting snatches of _Through The Looking Glass_ in order to keep himself on track. His mind drifted occasionally, wondering how a book like that would look when Loki was done with it; he thought he remembered seeing some sketches over Christmas. Selvig snored lightly in the passenger seat, datapad clutched to his chest like a holy relic, and Parker spared him a smile before turning his attention back to the traffic on the A9. He’d dropped off mid-sentence and hadn’t so much as twitched since. There was still a handful of hours to go in the drive, so Parker was content to let him sleep while he could.

They reached Orkney in the mid-afternoon. Parker was able to track down the field school among several that seemed to be scattered around the main island. Selvig drove while he navigated to the nearest town; a brief set of questions to a shopkeeper narrowed down their destination, and they set off once more.

“Tell me again why you didn’t call them?” Parker asked as the SUV moved along the well kept but bumpy dirt road that led to the digsite.

There was a faintly helpless look on Selvig’s face as he tapped his finger on the steering wheel. “I’m not entirely sure. I guess I just assumed…” He started over. “After SHIELD…” A sigh. “I don’t have a good reason. Don’t want to jinx it, as you cool kids always say. Do you think they’ll be angry?”

A gentle snort. “Please. I think they’d be surprised if someone _did_ call ahead of time. It’ll be fine it we just show up. She might put us to work, though. You good with a trowel?”

“Masonry was never my strong suit, I’m afraid.”

“Good. Me neither.”

***

Loki knelt at the edge of his test unit, carefully mapping the layer he’d just uncovered. The workday was rapidly drawing to a close, and he wanted to finish before Stewart or Aeslin called an end to things for the afternoon. Aeslin crouched several meters away, students clustered around her like sparrows; she was in the process of helping one catalog and retrieve a bit of jewelry he’d found. She was nearly finished when he saw her head lift slightly, ear cocked. She handed her clipboard to the nearest volunteer, then stood, brushing her hands on her jeans. Loki looked up curiously as she walked past his position; she stopped a few feet away, hand shielding her eyes from the sunlight as she watched a car approach.

Loki glanced over his shoulder, following her gaze to where a familiar figure was exiting the passenger side of the dark green SUV. His brow knit. “Is that-”

“Yup,” she said, voice a little troubled. “What the hell? I thought they were still in Iceland.” She picked her way through the maze of test pits and twine as she raised a hand in greeting. Loki closed his own clipboard, drawing safely inside, and fell into step behind her.

Parker met them halfway, waving with a slightly embarrassed smile. Aeslin pulled him into a hug, her voice muffled against his hoodie.

“Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“Everything’s fine. We’re good.” He let go, indicating Selvig as the older man came up as well, a datapad in his hand; he seemed reluctant to let it go.

Selvig spoke without preamble. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

There was a brief silence; after a second, Loki realized the physicist was talking to him and to not to Aeslin, as he assumed.

“Absolutely,” he replied, still a little confused. “I’m just finishing up the work for the day, if you’d like to join me. We can talk while I map.”

“Not here.” Selvig fidgeted with the device in his hand; Loki couldn’t decide if the other man was nervous or excited. Perhaps a combination of both. “Needs to be inside,” he continued. Somewhere quieter, maybe.”

Loki glanced at Aeslin, who nodded. “Come back to the cottages with us. I’m sure we can find you a place to stay, and you and I can talk after dinner and the evening wrap-up. Are you sure everything’s all right?”

Selvig smiled then, a warm, brilliant thing. “If I’m correct? Yes. It’s _more_ than all right.”

***

They reconvened after the evening meal; with Aeslin’s subtle nudging, Loki ducked quietly out of the evening lecture and headed over to the cottage where they’d managed to squeeze Parker and Selvig into a barely-used room. Parker let him in. Selvig was already setting up his equipment; he appeared to have hung a bedsheet on the wall to serve as a makeshift screen.

“What, you’re just going to let me in?” He asked Parker as he reached around Loki to close the door. “No secret handshake?” He glanced at Selvig’s setup. “What’s going on? What happened to Iceland?”

“We’re in Wales now,” Parker said. “We only got there a few days ago. I hadn’t gotten to the weekly email yet; it’s been a little wild.”

“You don’t say.”

“Sorry for all the secrecy,” said Selvig, straightening from his work. “I’m sure there was a better way to handle it, but I thought this was too important to trust to wires and telephones. SHIELD ruined me, I think.”

Loki laughed as he dropped onto the window seat. “Take a number; the line forms right behind Doctor Kindle.” He folded his arms. “So, what brings you to this edge of the world?”

“A theory. One I think you might be able to confirm.”

“On?”

Selvig tapped a finger against his device; an image appeared on the smooth white sheet. “This.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed as he studied the slowly shifting map; scattered blotches of blue, yellow and green morphed and vanished, flickering across Europe and North America. The remaining continents were dotted with dim red lights in a similar distribution. Some sections were brighter than others; in these areas, lights clustered like stars and galaxies. Loki’s eyes flicked from one to the next, noting dates and coordinates scrolling in a smooth list along the right side of the image.

“Tell me what I’m looking at.”

“Gravitational anomalies,” Selvig told him while Parker sat on the upper bunk, legs dangling. “These are confirmed. The red are the ones that we’ve picked up but haven’t gone after yet.” He ran his hand along the sheet, pointing out a few. “There’s no way to confirm that they even exist anymore; this is a composite, and some of the data is a few months old.”

Selvig brought up a series of images. “This is what they look like on the sensors. You’ll notice that while each one is a little different, they share many of the same characteristics. I thought perhaps they seemed familiar, but to be honest, I wasn’t sure if it was me or the Tesseract talking.” A gentle touch to his forehead. “She still shows up when I least expect it. Then I found this one.” He switched to another sensor image, where an angry pool of red, orange and yellow filled nearly the entire screen. “Recognize it?”

“Should I?”

A smile. “You should indeed. It’s the Bifrost. This is some of my original _original_ research. From New Mexico.”

Loki straightened slowly, eyes locked on the hanging bedsheet. After a long moment, he tore his gaze away and stared at Selvig. The other man nodded.

“Not just gravitational anomalies,” the physicist said, voice quiet. “ _Holes_. A network of holes that seems to stretch across the entire planet.”

Loki took a step closer to the sheet, tracing his hand along the edges of the blotch. He glanced over at Selvig, who ran his index finger across his device once more. The screen split in two, and another sensor image appeared on the right. It morphed and shifted gently, spreading wider as Selvig narrowed in closer, and then the two pictures joined.

They were nearly identical.

“New Mexico,” Selvig noted, pointing to the red, then to the cool blue that overlay it. “L’anse Aux Meadows, Newfoundland. Over three thousand miles apart.” Another appeared, bright green atop the others. “Sólheimajökull, Iceland. Another sixteen hundred miles and an ocean away. And that’s just three. There are _hundreds_ of them.”

“More than there used to be.” Loki spoke almost to himself.

“We haven’t been able to get many actual images of them,” Selvig said, flicking through a few photos. “They’re notoriously hard to catch, and the light has to be just right.” A chuckle. “The light. We’re trying to photograph light, once it all comes down to it, and I don’t think we have the right equipment.”

He skimmed past a picture, and Loki straightened. “Wait. What was that?”

Selvig flipped back, but Parker was the one who spoke. “We actually have no idea. At first I thought it might be a mutation, but it’s too clean. It’s not like a two-headed snake or anything; I mean, just look at that symmetry. New species maybe?”

A twitch of memory nudged the edge of Loki’s mind, and he indicated the device in Selvig’s hand. “May I?” he asked, and Selvig handed him the datapad. Loki turned it a little, looking at the photo from another angle.

Handing the pad back to Selvig after a long moment of study, Loki stepped up to the screen again. “It’s not a new species,” he said. “Quite ancient, in fact. You won’t have seen it before, because you’ve never left this planet. It’s from Muspelheim.”

There was a brief silence as the information sank in, and Selvig swore softly.

“Exactly,” Loki said. “Not just holes, Doctor. Portals.”

Parker stared at him. “You mean to tell me that all of these holes go to other realms?”

A shrug. “I have no idea where they go. I’m sure some are dead ends; others won’t go anywhere at all, and before you say anything, no, those aren’t the same thing. All I can tell you is that _this_ one, at least at one point, went to Muspelheim’s southern hemisphere. That’s the only place in the realms these irritating little bastards call home, thank the Norns.”

Parker winced. “They bite?”

Loki rolled his eyes. “If only.”

Selvig clutched Loki’s shoulder with one hand. “But this is wonderful! Oh, my boy, you’ve done more than confirm my theory. You may have just opened up an entirely new field of astrophysics!” He looked down at his datapad as though Loki had handed him a bag of gems. “This is extraordinary!” His face fell almost instantly as he looked back up at Loki, who  recognized the slightly haunted look behind the other man’s eyes. SHIELD. The Chitauri.

“And perhaps a little dangerous,” he replied, echoing Selvig’s thought. “You may want to keep it to yourself for a bit.”

“Much as I don’t want to do that to Stark, I would have to agree.”

“It would be a kindness, I think,” Loki replied with a gentle shake of his head. “Stark won’t mind not knowing; trust me on this one. He’s seen the other side, remember? I don’t know that we want to tell him that there are probably dozens of similar holes within shouting distance of Malibu. You think you and I are bad? Stark al _ready_ can’t sleep at night. He lives off caffeine and power naps. Sam's doing the best he can, but...” He trailed off with a shrug.

Selvig gave him a long, thoughtful look, then nodded. “Good point. We can always break it to him later. Slowly. With lots of well-researched data.”

“And snacks,” Parker broke in. “He'll probably want snacks.”

A laugh as Selvig turned back to the sheet. “I hate to waste an opportunity, though. These things aren’t exactly stable, and I think we need to gather as much information as possible in case things change. We can always go back over the data later.” His voice was casual as he brought up the original map; flickers of color spread over the sheet. “Could go faster with a bit of help.”

Loki’s brow went up. “You can’t possibly be talking about me.”

“Can and are,” Selvig admitted. “Parker and I have things down; the boy’s got patience, talent, and more potential than he knows what to do with, but we’re both a little out of our league.” His voice was matter-of-fact, but Loki could see Parker blushing even in the half-light of the projection. “It could be helpful to have you along for a bit, since you’ve spent most of your life studying these. It wouldn’t be permanent, even borrowing you for a week or two could make a world of difference.”

Loki pinched the bridge of his nose. “I may not be able to help you as much as you’d think; things are little different now.”

“You never know,” Selvig said, “and we’ll have you back before you know it.”

A sigh. “Let me think about it.”

***

_“You want to go.” Her voice is soft in the moonlight streaming through their window, and he sighs as he slides his hands along her hips and up her back._

_“I should be here. I promised I’d be here. You need me here.” He doesn’t bother to contradict her; she knows his mind almost better than he does these days._

_A gentle laugh that he feels against his ribs; she is resting with her head on his chest and her legs tight along his sides. She pushes herself up, bracing her palms on his out of habit. “I want you here. I love having you here. I don’t_ need _you here.” She leans down, brushing her lips across his to take away any sting her words might cause. “They do. I could see it in Selvig’s face at dinner. He’s thirty seconds away from total panic, and Parker’s about ten minutes behind him. You can at least go long enough to calm them down. Tackle them to the ground. Sit on them for a few minutes, if that’s what it takes. Lord knows you’ve done it enough for me.”_

_“That was a little different.”_

_“Not at first,” she responds, and then gives him an innocent grin. “Your intentions were completely honorable, remember?” He smirks, lacing his fingers through hers._

_“You could come with me.” He speaks without thinking, but he knows the answer before the words are completely out of his mouth._

_“I can’t, and you know it,” she replies. “We just opened the burial site a few days ago; the Royal Historical Society is visiting next week, and there’s the little matter where_ technically _I’m the one running things around here. I’m not going anywhere for at least another month.” At his silence, she gives him an encouraging smile. “And you’re the expert, remember? Not me.”_

_“Perhaps once. Not anymore.”_

_She shakes her head, bringing his fingers to her lips. “The world’s foremost astrophysicist came to you for help, and rightly so. You’ve got more trapped in your head than seventeen people can learn in a lifetime. You can help him. You_ should _help him. Come back to me when you’re done. I’ll still be here.” She untwines their fingers as she shifts slightly, bracing her hands on either side of his head. Her hair tumbles over one shoulder, tickling his cheek._

_“You want to go,” she says again, and he closes his eyes and lets out a long breath._

_“I do,” he finally admits. “Gods help me, but I do.”_

_“Thank heavens,” she laughs. “No more sharing a toddler-sized bed with the world’s snuggliest octopus. Maybe I can finally get some decent sleep.”_

_He grins back as he teases his fingers along the hem of her shirt. “Maybe,” he agrees. “Starting tomorrow.”_

_***_

Loki braced one foot on a large stone, balancing his datapad on his knee and making notes with the stylus. After a brief stop on the moors to make sure that portal hadn’t reappeared in Selvig’s absence, they had checked out of the hotel and moved further to the southwest. After setting up shop near the town of Dyffryn Ardudwy, they had set off for a spot several kilometers distant, following Selvig’s directions. A long hike brought them near a pair of small dolmens, the stone burial chambers standing stark against the clear May sky.

Parker was ranging over the grassy hill, a sensor pole resting on his shoulder as he followed Selvig’s shouted directions; they seemed to have made an art of it over the weeks they’d spent chasing portals, and Loki was content to leave them to it as he watched the smear at the edge of his screen pulse gently. They were still trying to hone in on the specific location; Selvig was sure that it was close, but he wasn’t quite as certain of the size or strength. After a moment, Loki closed his eyes, once again trying his best to sense anything that might help.

Nothing. As it had been each time, Loki felt as though he was listening to a complete absence of sound, or trying to hear words through a head stuffed with wool. The attempt made him a little woozy, as it always did, so he reopened his eyes with a sigh. He focused on the horizon to recenter himself, and as he did so, a whisper of movement caught his eye. Lifting his gaze a little higher, he watched in awe as hundreds, then thousands of birds swept up from the treeline, swirling and rippling across the sky in a huge murmuration. A smile broke across his face at the familiar sight, and he wished for a brief, brilliant second that Aeslin was there to see it with him.

Completely entranced, he didn’t hear Parker and Selvig come up next to him.

“Starlings,” Selvig said, almost reverently, and Loki nodded.

“They’re beautiful.”

Parker didn’t take his eyes of the swirling mass of birds. “Do they have anything like that where you come from?”

“Not like it,” replied Loki. “The same. Perhaps even the same birds.” At their clear confusion, he smiled. “Starlings can travel between realms. They’re one of the few creatures that can.”

“How? Do they have magic?”

“Of a sort, I suppose. I’m not even sure they’re native to your world; they’ve been crossing freely for thousands of years. It’s almost as though once upon a time, a few learned how, and they passed on the knowledge. A sort of collective memory. They don’t all need to know; just enough of them.” He watched them swoop lower, scanning the edges of the cloud for the predator he was almost sure was there.

“You seem to know quite a bit about them,” Selvig observed.

Loki spared him a brief look. “Where do you think I learned it?”

He could hear Parker’s skepticism before the boy even spoke. “You mean to tell me you learned portal-walking from birds?”

“In a way,” Loki replied. “I’d studied it as much as I could, and there seemed to be a consensus that some creatures could do it - those in particular. I decided to see if I could catch them at it. It took me years. Decades. I’d almost given up, but then one day I found myself in the mountains, far from the palace. I startled a flock of starlings, just a small one, and before I knew it, the whole lot took flight. I stood there and watched every single one of them disappear straight into a blank stone wall. So I followed.” A laugh. “It was by far the stupidest thing I’d ever done, at least up until that point. I just closed my eyes and ran. It was terrifying. Brutal. I fell between the realms with no safety net, no Heimdall, and I thought for sure I was going to go mad in the few seconds I had left before I ended up smeared across the cosmic equivalent of a brick wall. As you can see, that didn’t happen. I was damn lucky. I ended up getting dropped into one of Freyr’s _heggr_ orchards on Alfheim with a massive headache and only half my cloak.”

“Only half?”

“It had been sliced off as though by a razor. The nearest I can figure is that the portal closed on my way out. Had I been only a few seconds slower, it likely would have killed me.” He shrugged, still watching the starlings as they swept closer to the ground. “I was more careful after that. Marginally.”

“And you can sense portals? Like them?”

“Could,” Loki replied, “and better. Not anymore; Odin made certain of that. I’m as blind as you are now, or more so.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice and largely succeeded, but he didn’t miss Parker’s sympathetic look. “Rule 27,” he murmured.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He watched as the leading edge of the swarm sharpened and sped up; the first birds shot toward the center of the clearing in which Parker’s sensor pole was planted and vanished in a flicker of lightning. Hundreds followed while a few breaths passed, and then the rear of the flock suddenly veered off, scattering into the sky like glittering black leaves.

“Damn,” Selvig sighed, immediately realizing what that meant; Loki had to glance down for only a second to see that the blotch of color had disappeared from his screen.

A strange melancholy struck Loki, but he tried to keep his voice cheerful as he turned to the other two. “Well, I think that confirms _this_ sighting. We might want to check back tomorrow; they do occasionally come and go in the same spot, and in my experience, flocks don’t tend to use unstable portals. It’s too much risk to the group at large. I’ll wager that either this one returns, or there’s another one close by.”

“Call it a night, then?” Parker asked, and Selvig nodded. The young man started across the clearing to retrieve his sensor, and Loki made a final few notations before storing the datapad in the inner pocket of his jacket.

“There’s a pub about a block from the hotel,” Selvig said as Parker returned. “Dinner first, then we can sort through today’s readings and get an idea of what the plan for tomorrow might be.”

“An excellent idea,” Loki said, picking up his bag. “I’ll drive.”

Selvig laughed; the memory of the last time he’d been a passenger in a car Loki was driving was written plainly on his face. The pleasant smile stayed as he clapped Loki on the shoulder and headed back toward the rented SUV.

“Like hell you will.”

***

They returned to their lodgings that evening; they left the door joining the rooms open. Selvig flicked on his datapad. Images flared along a mostly blank wall, and he sat on the bed, staring curiously at the speckles of light scattered across the striped wallpaper. The others watched him for a moment; Loki started to speak, but Parker held up a finger, then pointed to his forehead, and he fell silent again.

“Why so many?” Selvig finally asked. “And why now?”

Loki dropped into the wheeled desk chair, spinning it gently. “What’s your theory? Surely you have one.”

“Ripples in a pond,” he replied after a minute or two. “The Bifrost is a massive, focused wormhole, correct?”

A nod and an inward wince. _Focused._ “Correct, for the most part. The Bifrost is one of the places where magic and technology collide, and I’m afraid I can’t tell you exactly where the line is. But as you showed me, it’s close enough.”

Selvig’s voice gained confidence. “A large gravitational anomaly would leave a trace. Warp its surroundings.” He split the screen, pulling up a sensor image from New Mexico, then stood. “It would stand to reason that there would be residuals around where it had recently been. That might explain the clusters we found around the site in New Mexico, as well as New York and southern California. All places the Bifrost has touched down.”

“London, too,” Loki confirmed. “Thor had Heimdall drop him over the Thames, I think. I don’t know precisely where, but it was close enough that I could hear it. That doesn’t explain Frigga, though.”

“What about her?” Parker asked.

“She came to visit back in January. I asked her how she’d gotten there without the Bifrost, and she told me that she used an existing but slightly unstable portal that let out at the White Hill. Tower of London now, and that was before Thor used the Bifrost. On the other hand, Thor came before she did to Malibu, and she didn’t use the Bridge then, either.”

“So you don’t think it’s linked?” Selvig’s face held a trace of disappointment.

“Actually, I do,” Loki answered soothingly. “It makes perfect sense; I’m just saying that there are likely other forces at play as well.”

Selvig sat again in silence, staring at the image that slowly shifted on the wall; Loki settled back in his chair, hands on his stomach, and closed his eyes. He allowed his mind to drift, to pluck and discard snatches of thought from his subconscious on the off chance that something useful might come to the surface. Shreds of conversations and memories floated through his brain, and he let each pass in turn.

_\- fires of Muspelheim bathing your skin -_

A small furrow touched his brow, but he let the thought linger as it wished.

_\- more than there used to be -_

A word lingered at the edge of his mind, wriggling just out of reach. He forced himself to remain patient; it would come. They always did. Another moment passed. He heard Selvig shift in his spot, the noise loud in the quiet of the room.

 _-_ _working model of the universe -_

Almost. Almost there.

 _-_ _make love with you by the light of a thousand stars -_

Loki’s eyes snapped open, and he sat up.

“Convergence. Of _course._ ”

The other two swiveled to look at him; there was a hint of hope in Selvig’s eyes.

“What’s that?”

Loki shoved himself from his seat, scrambling for the notepad and pen the hotel had thoughtfully left on the desk. “Your moon,” he said, fumbling the cap off and beginning a rapid sketch. “Your moon. What’s it for?”

“What’s it _for?_ ” Parker asked. “What the hell kind of question is that? It’s a moon. It hangs in space. It…” He trailed off, and Loki tore the top sheet off his pad of paper and started another scribble.

“ _Think_ , Parker,” he said a little roughly. “ _Malibu_.”

A moment of quiet, broken only by the frantic scratches of Loki’s pen, and then Parker spoke, his voice hesitant. “It affects the tides?”

“ _How_.” Ripping another sheet off, Loki began his next set of drawings; the accuracy was laughable at best, but it almost didn’t matter.

“Gravitational pull,” Selvig said as Loki completed a final page and took all four sheets to the unoccupied bed. Shoving bags aside, he laid the sheets out in a rough diamond. The other two crowded around, and Loki could tell that they both instantly recognized the nine realms despite the sloppy lines and lack of scale.

“Convergence,” Loki said again, shifting two of the pages. “Nothing is static in the cosmos, with very few exceptions. Worlds move. Orbit. Things move further apart.” He slid the page with two circles labeled _Muspelheim_ and _Vanaheim_ closer to the one with _Midgard_ and _Niflheim_. “They move closer together. Sometimes, they even align.”

Selvig saw it within seconds. “Bloody _hell_. Massive objects acting on each other. Gravitational wells. Black holes. It could warp the very fabric of reality.”

“Can and does,” Loki confirmed. “There’s a massive Convergence every five thousand years, give or take a bit, and if you want to talk about warping reality, get a back row seat for that one.” He laughed. “Not a front row seat; you wouldn’t be there for long.”

Parker’s face blanched, and Loki gave him a reassuring grin. “We’re not due for one of those for quite some time.” A beat. “I think.”

“You _think_? You said they happen once every five thousand years. Wouldn’t you be able to predict it?”

“Give or take,” Loki repeated. “It varies from one world to the next; time is a little different on every realm. What might be five thousand years on Asgard might quite a bit less on Muspelheim, and quite a bit _more_ on Svartalfheim. Nothing’s exact, and trying to track it all separately would drive even the best mathematicians mad. Why do you think Odin had to build a model?”

“Model?” Selvig’s ears perked up even further.

“Not just any model,” replied Loki. “ _The_ model. Gods, I wish you of all people could see it. It’s fantastic.” He rearranged the sheets of paper on the bedspread. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. There’s the Convergence with a Capital C, yes, but then there are smaller ones that happen on a more frequent basis. It could be another part of what’s causing all these.”

“How long do they last?”

A shrug. “Almost impossible to say. It depends on how many realms are involved and how close they are. Some move slower than others, too, so while one world might affect things for several months, it could take another realm years to pass. I’ve never seen one from this side, so that’s really all I can tell you.”

Selvig scoffed gently, a grin on his face. “ _All_ ,” he mimicked kindly. “Mere tidbits, my boy, except the part where you’ve launched astrophysical theory and practice well into the next century. And in only what, ten minutes? You should be ashamed of yourself for taking so long.”

Loki gave him an answering smirk as Parker straightened. “Can we theorize that one of them is Muspelheim, then, based on the creature we found?” the young man asked.

“It does stand to reason,” Loki agreed, “and based on the numbers you’ve got, I’m willing to wager there’s at least one more involved.”

“I’d say that I’ll take that bet,” Parker laughed, “but since I don’t know that we’ll ever _actually_ know without a lot more than what we have, let’s just assume you’re right.” He clapped his hands together, rubbing them excitedly as he turned back to Selvig. “Maybe we can figure it out another way, though. Compare frequencies now that we have a theoretical baseline? There might be a pattern that we’ve been missing that would make more sense now with what we know.”

“Good thinking,” Selvig said, pulling up a map. “I’m right there with you. We can even have the system start comparing this evening; we’ll just have the wiggle the algorithms a little bit and let it work overnight.”

“And then tomorrow, we can go gather more data. What about here?” He pointed to a place on the northwest coast.

Loki squinted at the town name. “Llanfairpwllgwyngyll?” he said, pronunciation flawless.

A sigh. “ _Damn_ you,” Selvig muttered, reaching into his pocket and slapping something into Parker’s outstretched hand.

“That’s the one,” Parker said, tucking the folded bill neatly away.

Loki looked a little closer; the nearest dot of light was kilometers from the spot. “Why? There doesn’t seem to be anything there.”

“Absolutely nothing,” confirmed Parker with a grin. “I just had to make you say the name.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy wednesday! 
> 
> feedcrack appreciated. we'd love to hear how you feel about where the story is going. theories? instincts? hit us with 'em! <3 love you all! thanks for being here!
> 
> (as a reminder: Rule 27: No sympathy. (Loki despises people feeling sorry for him, especially when it comes to his lack of powers.))


	13. Chapter 13

Blodgada reached up to rub her eyes, remembering halfway through the motion that others might be watching. Not wanting to seem tired, she settled for scratching gently at the lines on her forehead, then folding her hands neatly back on the table. The negotiations had been going on for days, though it already seemed like months. Hours on end discussing grain, food and medical supplies to be delivered on this or that day. She had been excited at the beginning of the talks, knowing that the help they needed was finally going to come; as the endless meetings had dragged on, however, the warrior side of her began to emerge more and more. It was time to stop talking about what was to be done, and to start doing it. Just this morning, a messenger had come to Byleistr. A riot in Skrattafell. It had been small, resolved quickly and peacefully before the messenger had even been sent to the palace, but it stood as a stark reminder that the Jotuns were running out of time.

Today’s topic was relocation. Many communities had been cut off in the Destruction, and despite Blodgada’s attempts to find travelrifts or even stable paths, they remained isolated. Asgard had agreed to aid retrieving the stranded groups, and the past few days had been spent prioritizing movements and discussing possible locations for the new settlements.

Byleistr flipped through the stack of parchment that Sif had nudged across the table toward him, making notations as he went.

“So we are agreed. All of these communities will be moved by Mabon, with the focus to be on those closest to the Falls,” he said, referring to a large, unstable section to the north where whole swaths of land had tumbled into the Void. Only a vortex remained; a vicious, rapid swirl of darkness that, by report, had claimed more than a few lives. “We will set up a repository as you have requested, as well as authorized trading outposts. Given the current state of affairs, these will be necessary in limiting contact between our peoples. For now.” He straightened the pile of closely-written sheets, passing them on to the scribe that sat near his elbow. Sitting a little taller, Byleistr regarded Odin with a calm look that betrayed nothing. “Goods and supplies. A schedule for rebuilding and relocation. From where I sit, I believe we’re nearly finished.” He settled forward a fraction. “However, there is one last matter we need to address.”

Blodgada tensed. Byleistr had warned her and Helblindi ahead of time what he was planning, and all three were well aware that this was likely the most dangerous part of the negotiations. It could be the tipping point, the moment that the Asgardians scooped everything off the table and stormed away, leaving the Jotuns to die. She schooled her face into a carefully neutral expression as Byleistr continued.

“The All-Mother has seen firsthand the results of the destruction rained down upon my people. We have spoken at this table of the difficulties the Jotun face; there is hope, however. Because of our work within these chambers, we will be able to begin the long, slow recovery from this unprecedented act. We will survive, yes, and perhaps one day we will thrive once more.” He paused; Blodgada could see the faintest furrow beginning to flicker between Frigga’s brows, but Odin’s face remained like stone.  “Survival alone is not enough,” Byleistr went on. “We also require justice. Reparations for both the weaponized use of the Bifrost and for the murder of Laufey, king of Jotunheim.”

There was some shocked murmuring from the Asgardian contingent, but as the All-Father raised his hand, silence returned. “Laufey was not murdered,” he declared in a firm voice. “He invaded my home. He was killed during an attempt to assassinate me.”

Unlike their Asgardian counterparts, the Jotun remained silent, and Blodgada was proud to note their discipline. Surprise was evident on almost every face but Byleistr’s and Helblindi’s, but you could have heard a pin drop in the room. Byleistr held Odin’s eye.

“You claim that Asgard holds no responsibility for Laufey’s death?”

“Laufey’s death is on his own head,” Odin said shortly. “He declared war despite a standing treaty. He invaded Asgard on his own volition, waiting for a moment when he thought me helpless, and came to my very chamber with the goal of dishonorably ending my life.”

Blodgada forced down her anger at the accusation. She glanced over at Helblindi and could see that he was fighting the same fury. Helblindi was the crown prince and as such had every right to be at the negotiations, but Blodgada worried about him. Byleistr did, as well, and he had quietly instructed Blodgada to keep an eye not only Odin and Frigga, but Helblindi as well. She therefore sat next to him and not to Byleistr, as was her place. She couldn’t see Helblindi’s face, but she could practically feel the rage pouring from him.

Others could also tell his mood; Blodgada noticed several of the Asgardian group watching Helblindi with slightly unsettled expressions. In contrast, Byleistr’s wrath was evident only in the tension of his jaw. He spoke slowly and patiently, as though trying to explain a particularly simple problem to a child.

“And as you _well_ know, All-Father, since you were there, Laufey was within his right to do so. He declared war after Asgard’s golden child came into our home and attacked our people without provocation. _Thor_ broke the truce that we had upheld for centuries. Do not _dare_ to place that on Laufey’s head.” Byleistr leaned forward fractionally, his voice growing colder by the second. “You sit there and accuse _us_ of dishonor? Laufey’s actions were in good faith. He was brought to Asgard to fulfill his half of a bargain. One he made with your _other_ son.”

The room exploded into noise. “Lies!” shouted an Asgardian above the shocked hubbub. Blodgada did not see who it was; she kept her gaze on Odin and Frigga, who sat unmoving and silent, faces completely blank.

“It is no lie!” Helblindi slammed his fist down on the table as he stood, the scrape of his chair against the stone loud in the sudden silence. “I was there, All-Father. Do your people want to know the truth? I saw him. I heard him. I stood in Laufey’s throne room while your royal spare identified himself as the one who brought us to Asgard during the coronation. A bit of fun that became something more, he said. I stood there as he insulted our realm. Insulted _us_. I listened as he promised us the Casket of Winters in exchange for your death. Not Laufey’s. _Yours_.” His pointing finger stabbed at Odin like a spear. “And if he had succeeded…” He broke off angrily. “You accuse us of treachery? Look to your own house first, _All-Father_.”

Blodgada gently rested her hand on Helblindi’s arm, and he whirled to glare at her. She held his eyes for a moment; then, with a growl, he jerked his arm from beneath her fingers and stalked from the chamber. The door slammed behind him with a hollow boom.

“I was also in the throne room when the Traitor came,” Byleistr said into the heavy quiet. Not showing any reaction to Helblindi’s outburst, he continued as he settled back gently. “The king spoke to Blodgada about it before he left, as well.” Odin’s eye flicked to hers, and Blodgada nodded in response. It was technically true; the last words Laufey had ever spoken to her had been the assignment to watch him go to Asgard. Byleistr continued. “Despite what you may believe, it happened. We speak the truth. The only question now is what to do about it.”

His voice was soft, and the silence that followed was profound. Finally Frigga spoke.

“I think perhaps a recess is in order.”

Byleistr nodded. “Agreed. One hour.”

None from Asgard argued; Odin stood, and the others followed suit. Byleistr remained sitting, tall and proud, and as the Asgardian contingent filed silently from the room, Blodgada could barely hide her smile.

***

Byleistr led the way to his office, sending a page for food.

“Impressions?” he asked as he sat behind his massive desk and stretched out his legs. The three of them had come to his office for the duration of the recess. 

“They didn’t know,” Blodgada replied as she took the chair across from him; she watched Helblindi forgo his usual spot on the bench. He prowled the room instead, unable to sit still. “I mean, of course the soldiers wouldn’t have known,” she went on. “Assassination attempts are probably well-kept state secrets there, just as they would be here. Perhaps more so.” She leaned back in her chair as well, voice thoughtful. “But I’m almost certain Odin and Frigga didn’t either. They had no idea Laufey made a bargain with their own son.”

“So a traitor to them as well as to us,” Byleistr mused. He caught her eye and frowned. “You find that amusing?”

“A little,” Blodgada admitted. “It was the mix of horrified confusion and irritation on their faces at the very last. That’s how I felt the whole time I was in Asgard, and having the situation reversed was quite… satisfying.”

Byleistr’s lip quirked in response. “I see. Very well; you have my permission to feel smug for the next few minutes, but you’d better be my cold, vicious lieutenant before we go back in there. I can’t have you giggling if I expect to be taken seriously by the Asgardians. So if you can manage to compose yourself for a moment or two, tell me what else you noticed.”

“I have never giggled in my _life_ ,” she replied haughtily. At Byleistr’s look, she smiled. A knock sounded at the door; the page delivered a few plates of food and a flagon of wine. She waited for the boy to depart, then tapped her knee in an old habit while she thought. “I don’t think they knew about their son’s bargain, but they believed what you said. The contingent at large were shocked; that much is obvious, but Odin and Frigga? They weren’t. Neither was the captain, now that I look back on it. Upset, yes. Angry, absolutely. But not surprised.”

“And they accuse us of lies,” Helblindi growled, flipping his knife with a practiced hand as he paced. “They accuse us of dishonor and lies when they know we speak the truth.”

“They see that what we say could be true,” Byleistr corrected. “That’s not the same thing. I don’t think there’s anything we can say or do that will convince them beyond doubt; there will always be someone who casts doubt on us. It’s to be expected.” He sat back. “But if they _do_ recognize the likelihood of their son’s betrayal, we find ourselves in a good negotiating position. Any thoughts on going forward?”

“Tell them to fetch their precious little boy. He’s _more_ than welcome at the negotiating table. Let him speak for himself. Offer him a bargain. He makes it quick?” Helblindi flung his knife toward the door, where it stuck point-first. “So do we.”

“Have no fear,” soothed Byleistr. “The Traitor will stand before us, and he will pay for his crimes, but we have yet to reach that point. Blodgada and her apprentice haven’t yet located him, so Odin and Frigga must bring him to us.” He steepled his fingers thoughtfully beneath his chin. “We must be cautious, though. We can’t threaten them into this, not while we still need their aid.”

“So we’re still to be petitioners,” Helblindi said, tugging his knife from the door with a sour expression. “Fawning and begging for what’s rightfully ours.”

“We’re no beggars,” replied the king, “and believe me when I say that I intend to help them see the necessity for justice, whether they want to or not.”

“Honestly, I think they already see it,” Blodgada observed, remembering the look on Frigga’s face. “They understand the depth of his crime; they have to. Only a fool wouldn’t, and much as I’d like to think so, Odin’s no idiot. But how far will they go to protect one of their own? He’s their son.”

A snort as Helblindi resheathed his dagger. “He betrayed them, too.”

“Perhaps,” she allowed, “but I’m not sure they’ll return the favor.”

“Our best course is to present our case firmly,” Byleistr said, draining his flagon of wine and setting the cup firmly on his desk. “This is not some small indiscretion to be kept quiet. This is an atrocity committed against a realm under Odin’s protection. To deny that would not only be a lie, but proof to all realms that Odin puts his own interests before any duty to his people. I don’t think he can allow that idea to take root.” Byleistr stood. “I want to be settled before the Asgardians return, so we need to return.” He paused. “As soon as Blodgada stops giggling.”

“It wasn’t _giggling_!” She threw up her hands in exasperation, using the motion to come to her feet. “It was _smiling_! Which you would know _if you ever smiled._ ” She saw only the briefest hint of humor in his eyes before his neutral expression returned. Blodgada carefully matched her face to his as he opened the door and led them down the hallways. She walked behind the brothers, secure in the knowledge that Byleistr would find a way to make the Traitor pay for his crimes.

***

The Asgardians were a little more collected when they returned to the negotiating table. They filed in as silently as they had left, but their backs were straighter, their faces carefully schooled. Frigga exuded calm, as always, but Blodgada noticed how intently the queen was watching Odin. She turned her attention to the All-Father as well. He did not wait for Byleistr’s invitation to sit, dropping into his chair almost immediately; the others in his party waited a fraction of a second longer before taking their seats as well.  

Odin met Byleistr’s eyes and began without preamble. “Speak your piece.”

Byleistr made no mention of the lack of protocol. Dispensing with formality himself, he answered bluntly. “We require justice for the devastation brought down upon us. What has been done to this realm, to our _home_ , is inexcusable and undeniable. These crimes must be answered for. To this end, we require the return of the Casket of Winter, as was promised to us, as well as the life of your traitorous son.”

More Asgardian murmuring, but not a muscle twitched on a single Jotun’s face. They were in the right. Justice must be served.

Odin held up a hand to still the noise, then leaned forward, lantern light shining on his golden eyepatch. “No.” The word was as flat and definite as a stone slab falling into place.

Byleistr gave no ground. “You have a duty to serve the interests of all the realms with fairness and dignity. By keeping these things from us, you deny justice.  You deny your son’s involvement in the murder of my father. You deny his destruction of my world.”

Frigga said nothing, her eyes on her husband. The calm had vanished, though, replaced by a dull tension that only grew as the All-Father stood. He rested his knuckles on the table while he leaned forward, as if trying to intimidate Byleistr, who remained coolly seated.

“I do not deny justice,” he said, his words clipped. “There is none here to be had.” Byleistr narrowed his eyes as Odin continued. “I have no intention of keeping a bargain that I did not make.”

Helblindi spoke, his voice unnaturally calm. “And the traitor?”

Odin did not even deign to look at the crown prince; he kept his gaze on Byleistr.

“My son,” he said, “is dead.”

“Dead.” Byleistr’s single, echoed word held years of bitterness.

“Taken by the Void. Thor tried to stop his brother’s madness. He succeeded at great cost; the Observatory fell, and Loki with it.” Odin straightened with a rustle of fabric. “So you see, son of Laufey, there is nothing further to discuss.”

Byleistr stood as well; he towered over the All-Father. “There is much to discuss,” he replied coldly. “My people will have justice.”

“Your people will survive,” Odin told him. He gathered stacked parchments and cast them across the table to land in a scattered heap in front of Byleistr. “Let it be enough.”

Odin turned, his scarlet cape swirling, and left the room, boots ringing on the stone. Frigga stood and followed, eyes downcast but back straight. The rest of the contingent fell into step behind her, and as the door closed, the Jotun were left looking at each other. Anger shone in their eyes, but there was no longer a place for it to go.

****

_Frigga sits in a stone chair, chin in one hand and staring at nothing in particular. The warm, well-lit room is large, even by Asgardian standards, but it is far from big enough for the All-Father’s pacing. His steps are firm, but his head is bowed and his brow low._

_“What have we done?” she muses. “How could you have told them that?”_

_“I will not allow these creatures to demand anything of us,” Odin replies, footsteps loud in the windowless room. “Giving them aid is one thing. Letting them dictate our fates is quite another.”_

_“As we dictate theirs?”_

_“We are saving them. They should be on their knees thanking us, not demanding this so-called_ justice _. The Casket of Winter is mine, taken centuries ago as spoils of war.”_

_“Yours?” She pulls her gaze back, focusing keen blue eyes on her husband. “Or Asgard’s?”_

_A sharp look. “It is the same. I will not give them this weapon.”_

_“Not only a weapon,” she corrects gently. “A tool, as well. A necessary one.”_

_“You would have me turn it over to them? Knowing full well how they have used it in the past? I owe them nothing. Their bargain was not made with me.”_

_“And you said as much, but there is a difference between rejecting a proposal and outright deceit. It is not the discussion of the Casket that concerns me. We lied.”_

_“What would you have me say? If I agree to every demand they make, next they will think they hold power over our very lives.”_

_“That is not the point, husband, and you know it. Your son-”_

_“He’s not my son!” Odin shouts, whirling on her. Her face is pained, but he does not stop the words. “It was no lie. My son is dead.”_

****

Byleistr’s office was quieter this time around. The three of them sat in silence, eyes downcast as the dusk fell. Finally Blodgada spoke.

“It’s what we wanted,” she said. “It doesn’t matter how.” She looked up at Byleistr, who sat stone-faced in the deepening twilight. “Right?”

“Wrong,” snarled Helblindi from his spot on the bench. His knife was in his hands, but he wasn’t flipping it. He merely held it in a loose warrior’s grip, staring at it as though he could see the Traitor’s blood dripping from its point. “I wanted to see his blood. To feel it pour across my hands. It would appear even that chance was taken from me.” A scoff. “Just like everything else.”

“As did I,” Byleistr said.

A bitter laugh from Blodgada. “You’re supposed to be the calm one.”

“His blood was mine by right, both as King of Jotunheim and as my father’s son.” Byleistr leaned back. “But it appears that my right will go unfulfilled. The Void has seen to that.”

Blodgada worried one thumbnail out of long-forgotten habit. “So that’s it, then,” she murmured at last.

“Not at all,” Byleistr replied, voice gaining strength. “The Casket is the key. With it, we won’t require Asgard’s help. We’ll be able to stand independent, on our own feet and out of their way. I’ll make them see that returning the Casket will ensure that such a disaster will never happen again; if anything, it will establish peace. It will put us years ahead of any amount of grain or supplies that Asgard can send. I’m fairly certain Frigga will be more amenable than Odin; she seems to be more understanding of our plight. That may need to be where we apply the pressure. Odin may or may not agree, but either way we need to try.”

“ _You_ need to try,” retorted Helblindi, shoving his knife into its sheath and thumping his boots to the floor. “ _I_ need to go beat the living Hel out of something. If you need me, which I don’t suggest you do, I’ll be in the weapons yard.” Byleistr nodded, but Helblindi was already gone, the door slamming behind him. Blodgada looked after him thoughtfully.

“Will you be joining him, then?” Byleistr asked, inclining his head toward the door.

A shrug. “If you need me to, but I hadn’t planned on it. Even I can’t stand him when he’s like this.” She went back to her slightly-chewed fingernail. “I worry about him, though. I know I’m far from any sort of negotiator, but he…” she trailed off, a little embarrassed by her own candor.

“He will learn,” finished Byleistr. “He did not have the training I had. He never expected to be the crown prince, any more than I expected to be king. We were called far before our time. He will learn, I think. Just not tonight.” He leaned back in his chair with a sigh, rubbing a hand across his head, then regarded her. “And what about you, my ever diplomatic lieutenant? Where will this night take you?”

“I thought I’d go down to the station and let them know they don’t need to watch for the Traitor anymore. They’ve been spending a lot of hours looking for him, and we could use the personnel for other things. Their original task, not babysitting.” She stretched, feeling the muscles in her back and legs protest at the motion. “I could use the walk anyway, unless you want my aid in drafting another proposal for the Casket.”

He waved her away. “Go. I’ll get it started, and then perhaps try for some rest. I feel like it’s been days.”

“Good idea,” she said, smiling her thanks. He nodded, then began to write she walked through the palace and out into the cold air of evening.

****

Vornir was at a watchrift when she arrived. Most of the watchers were, it seemed, but he signaled to one to take over his lens and hurried to greet her.

“Come to get the report yourself? I’m honored. It’s not quite ready for tonight yet, but if you give me a few minutes, I can have the important bits ready to go.”

She smiled; he seemed to have embraced his role as leader, and she found it refreshing in the face of Helblindi’s reluctance. “No,” she replied. “I came to tell you that we’ve confirmed the younger son isn’t in the palace. You don’t need to watch for him anymore.”

“Do you have somewhere else you want us to look? We can-”

“No,” she said.

Vornir waited for her to elaborate, and when she didn’t he simply nodded. “All right then. Yfrid and Himinglaeva are on royal spare duty at the moment. I’ll let them know.”

He set off across the cavern, and she drifted after him. She had delivered her message and had no further reason to stay, but the lights and machinery were a familiar comfort. Blodgada realized she wasn’t ready to go back to the palace and its tension yet. A tiny cheer came from one of the women Vornir was addressing; it cut off the second she noticed Blodgada’s attention. The lieutenant smiled as she approached, noting how the woman’s cheeks were tinged a faint indigo from embarrassment.

“Should have been louder,” Blodgada said with a reassuring smile. “Gods know that being released from a boring assignment is something to cheer about."

“But don’t get too excited,” Vornir added with a mock-severe look. “You’re back on Midgard duty, yes, but nothing’s happening there, either.”

“They’ve moved rifts?” Blodgada asked.

“I don’t think so. All their equipment is still there.” He led her back to the lens he’d been watching when she arrived. She could dimly see the poles he had mentioned, but couldn’t get a sense of scale. Without thinking, she reached down to tweak a dial. The watcher stood and offered her the chair. Smiling, she sat, her hands running smoothly over the controls.

“They tend to leave the boxes for a while,” Vornir said from over her shoulder, “and sometimes they have boxes at more than one rift.” He shifted forward, pointing. “Those poles mean they’re actively working this site. They have little flat rectangles too, but always keep those with them. We haven’t been able to get a good look.”

She zoomed in on one of the boxes. “Data collection?”

“We think so. They come and check the boxes every now and then, so it makes sense. The purpose of the poles is less clear. More precise measuring? Are they a gate? I don’t think they’re close to actually opening anything, but things are stepping up. Only-Sometimes-Hairy had to get another apprentice.”

“Advisor,” called out the woman from her lens. “He doesn’t carry as much equipment as the other guy, even though he’s much taller.” She snorted indelicately. “Lazy bastard.”

Vornir waved airily; this was apparently a conversation he’d had several times already. “Himinglaeva’s sketched him, so we all know what he looks like, but there’s still some discussion as to the new guy’s role. He hasn’t been there very long, and none of the rifts we’ve found are big enough to hear through. Not well, anyway.”

“Mmhmm.” Blodgada was only half listening. She had zoomed back out and was trying to judge distances. “Why so many? It seems inefficient for a single rift.” A gesture to the watery edges of the view. “Are the boxes always in the same pattern?”

“The same general pattern, usually, but there are variations. I’ve got a chart somewhere around here.”

“No lenses or crystals on the poles,” she observed. “If those are theodolites, they’re not going to be of much help. Have you gotten a look inside the boxes?”

“Nothing we could recognize,” Vornir answered. “The one we saw looked _nothing_ like ours, though. I can tell you that for certain.”

“So interesting,” she said, almost to herself. “I wonder if they’re using the oscillations to track them, or if they have something else.”

A piece of the rough, reused parchment the station used for notes appeared under her elbow. Without thinking, she took the charcoal that was handed to her and began to rapidly diagram the equipment. “Resonance,” she murmured. “They could be measuring resonance. I wonder-”

Vornir gave a small chuckle. Jostled out of her thoughts, Blodgada lifted her head just in time to see him smothering a grin. “Should I get you a snack?” he asked her. “More parchment? I’d be more than happy to let you draw up the report tonight.”

She blinked at him for a second before it clicked. The report. He was doing the report, because she was supposed to be at the palace negotiating. The disappointment of the day came rushing back, and she sighed. “No,” she said reluctantly as she pushed her chair away from the lure of the pale green light streaming from the edges of the lens. She knew in that moment she would never be able to focus on any paperwork Vornir might have. “I don’t need a report tonight. I’m exhausted. Just combine it with the one for tomorrow.”

“If you say so,” said Vornir, holding out the penultimate word for a little longer than necessary. His brow knit. “You’re sure there isn’t anything else you need?”

“I’m sure, thanks. I’d better get back.” She decided to stop by and check on Byleistr, see what she could do for him. It would be asking for trouble if he stayed up all night working on the proposal and then expected to face the All-Father with an even temper the next morning. The proposal could wait a day longer if it had to.

“Keep up the good work!” she called to the workers as she left, injecting as much cheer as she could into her tone. Vornir’s friendly wave back didn’t do much to hide his worried face.

****

The next day was exhausting. Byleistr had to walk a fine line between pushing for the Casket and not angering the Asgardians to the point of losing the aid they had already agreed to. Blodgada didn’t even say anything; she occasionally signaled Byleistr and kept Helblindi under control.

After the meetings were over for the day, she and Byleistr spent several hours discussing his strategy. By the time she headed for her rooms, it was well past dark. She found herself longing for bed and one of the Asgardian’s many blankets to pull over her head until morning came far too soon.

Vornir was waiting outside her rooms. “You weren’t in your office,” he said in greeting, “and it was late enough that I didn’t think you’d go there tonight anyway.”

Blodgada winced inwardly; it sounded like he’d been waiting for a while. She wondered what was so important, and why the roll of parchment under his arm was many times larger than usual.

“Come in,” she said as she opened the door. The room was sparse, and she didn’t usually have company. She gestured him to the only chair and sat on a trunk. “What’s on your mind?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, giving her a canny look. “I know you, Blood Lieutenant. You’re not tired. You don’t _get_ tired. You’re drained. You’re off-center.” She opened her mouth to deny it, but Vornir held up a hand. “I’m going to assume something went wrong with the negotiations, and you can’t talk about it. That’s fine. I couldn’t help you with that if I tried, but you’re my friend. I want to help you _some_ how.” He passed her the huge, heavy roll. “Last night you seemed to cheer up when you were looking at Midgard, so that’s what this is. Everything we have about Midgard; most of it’s the rift hunter, to be honest, but there’s quite a bit of other information, as well. Maybe you can find something in there to take your mind off whatever went wrong.” He stood. “Whatever it was… it’ll work out. You’re smart. Byleistr’s a good king. The two of you can make it work.” A friendly smile, and then he was gone, closing the door softly behind him.

Touched by the kindness, Blodgada held the roll for a few more moments before setting it aside. At least now she had something to look forward to. She wondered if the patterns of cubes would give any indication to their purpose and was tempted to see, but she knew that if she did that she’d be up all night delving through the information, comparing his rift equipment and techniques with her own. She needed sleep.

It refused to come. Her mind continuously cycled through comments and expressions the Asgardians had made throughout the day. Was she missing anything? Reading too much into anything? This was her duty, and so far she didn’t seem to be helping all that much aside from the occasional stomp on Helblindi’s boot when he seemed ready to say something foolish.

She gave up about halfway between midnight and dawn. Shoving her light covers off, she lit a lantern and went to her chair. She needed to rest her mind; perhaps then, her body would follow. She decided to skim the information Vornir had given her in an attempt to think about something a little different.

There was some organization in the roll, but most of it seemed to be watch reports stacked chronologically. From the variety of handwritings, it seemed as though everyone at the station had taken a turn at one point or another. The beginning was thick with descriptions of terrain, weather patterns, plant and animal life - the ordinary bits that made up a world. She found a mention of the glass cities and skimmed it, but she didn’t dare to read it thoroughly until she had more time. She felt herself relaxing as she paged through, looking at a sentence here, a diagram there.

Soon after, Blodgada began to see the first mentions of the rift hunter. There was a map with dated sightings, along with written descriptions of his activities. He and his apprentice seemed to be found together all the time. The reports came closer together after she’d spoken with Vornir about him; there were several sightings a day. She found a page detailing cube and pole placement, but set it aside as a puzzle for another day. There was also mention of the second apprentice, easily found because of a different hand crossing out _apprentice_ and writing _advisor_.

She came to three smaller pages held together by a loop of twine. The top one was labeled as the rift hunter, and she studied it carefully. Midgardian faces were hard to recognize because of their lack of family ridges, but Himinglaeva had done a good job capturing detail. His face held a few wrinkles, and his thinning hair might be another clue to age, or merely fashion. Over middle age, she finally decided, but not old. He bore a thoughtful expression, and she could easily see the intelligence in his expression. This was a man who studied things, tried to puzzle them out in his mind, and if she was any judge, he was good at it.

Blodgada turned the page. This picture was labeled _apprentice_ , with the word _first_ hastily scribbled in front of the title and then crossed out in a different color ink. A faint smile twitched at the edge of her lip as she recognized the gentle one-upmanship of which those in the old observatory had been so fond. This human was also male but seemed quite a bit younger. His main feature was his smile. It lit his whole expression, and Blodgada found herself glad that the rift hunter had a cheerful apprentice. She knew how wonderful help could be, and she reminded herself to thank Vornir for his thoughtfulness. He had been right. She was already feeling quite a bit better.

Then she turned to the third picture.

****

The few watchers on the night shift jumped as Blodgada stormed into the rift station. “Where is this man?” she demanded, holding up the picture of the second apprentice.

“The advisor?” asked one of the watchers in a hesitant voice after a brief glance at the drawing. “We don’t know.” She blanched a little at the look on Blodgada’s face and stumbled over her words. “Not right at the moment, I mean. The last sighting of that one was a couple of hours ago.”

“Find him,” Blodgada hissed, dropping the roll of Midgardian information on a table. “I want every watcher looking. _Now_.”

A quick bob of her head, and the woman sprinted toward the dormitory while others scrambled for reports and lenses. Vornir appeared at a run; he’d clearly been woken from a dead sleep. “What’s going on? Yfrid said we need to find the apprentice?”

Blodgada was already shaking her head. “The second one. The advisor.” Vornir drew closer and she lowered her voice. “I need to see him.”

She could sense his confusion, but to his credit, Vornir didn’t hesitate.

“You heard her,” he said, his voice taking in the whole room. “Target is Midgard. We need to find the advisor. Last known location? Pass me that map…”

Someone shoved a parchment into his hand, and as he read out the coordinates, watchers began to calibrate their lenses. They had finally reached the point where there were more watchers than lenses, so Vornir assigned some to sort through previous sightings and try to predict where the man might have gone. He set some of the lens watchers to checking rifts, systematically spiraling outward from his last sighting while others were skipped to places that he might be expected to appear. The rifts did not cover anything close to the entire area, but the watchers tuned and tweaked each one, spending what felt like an eternity making sure he was nowhere in range. As each watcher called out “not found,” Vornir would fire back with the next coordinates to check. Blodgada prowled through the room, advising as best she could, adjusting lenses and trying very hard not to snap from the strain.

Even with every watcher pinned to their lenses, it was over an hour before someone finally called out that they had found him. Blodgada strode to the riftwatcher’s post, Vornir on her heels. At a sharp gesture, the young woman slid from her seat, and Blodgada took over the controls. Her fingers moved almost of their own accord as she perfected the focus, adjusting the angle and sharpening the image with the ease of long years of practice.

His hair was longer. His face was leaner, somehow sharper than before. His clothes were similar to his companions’, and nothing like the royal garb she’d last seen him wearing. His whole demeanor seemed different. The danger was still there for anyone to see, hovering just below the surface, but the smile was different. Easy. Unforced. The change was jarring, but there was no doubt in her mind. She knew his face. She could never forget it, burned into her mind as it had been the night of the Destruction. Blodgada swallowed against the sudden bile that rose in her throat.

“Out,” she said, not taking her eyes from the lens. “Everyone. You are all on leave as of this moment.” Her hand snaked out without thought, grabbing a handful of Vornir’s leather jerkin. “Not you.” She heard the watchers leave one by one and did not speak again until the chamber was completely empty. “Get Byleistr,” she told her apprentice. “Take the _hestur_ I left outside.”

“ _Now_?” She could hear the disbelief in his voice. “It’s three hours until dawn, and you want me to stroll into the king’s personal chamber just so I can drag him all the way out here?”

“Trust me.” Blodgada felt a smile creep across her lips. “He wants to see this.”

She heard him hesitate, then the soft sound of boots on stone came as he headed rapidly for the door. Blodgada did not watch him go; she kept her eyes on the lens.

He was not going to disappear again.

****

Byleistr stood behind her, bent over her shoulder with his head next to hers. He watched the lens in silence as Blodgada’s hands danced on the controls, keeping the target in sight as he moved around.

“Taken by the Void,” Byleistr finally said, Odin’s words sounding very different coming from his lips.

“They must know.” Blodgada shook her head. “They _have_ to. But if they don’t…”

“No retaliation.”  

Blodgada wasn’t surprised that his mind had gone immediately to the same place hers had. “If they don’t know he’s alive, they won’t know we killed him.”

“And if they do know, accusing us of his death will expose them as liars. There’s no way out.” Byleistr fell silent, watching the lens with a frown. “Can you get us there?”

“It’ll take time,” she admitted. “Once they retrieved the missing pieces from the Wastes, our engineers were able to use Vornir’s data to figure out what went wrong. The riftgate’s back in working order. We’ve only found one travelrift, though.” She glanced at the map. “We’ll need to get to it on our side, and he’s pretty far from the endpoint on Midgard.”

“Getting closer, though.” Vornir’s voice was hesitant. Blodgada had forgotten he was there, and from Byleistr’s face, he had, too. They turned as one to see Vornir standing quietly at the map table. He cleared his throat and spoke up. “We’ve been tracking the rift hunter’s movements as you requested, my liege. At this point, he seems to be working his way northward, toward the center of the rift coalescence on this cluster of islands.” He tapped a long finger on the carefully inked parchment. “I think we can assume at this point that this advisor will be traveling with the hunter and his apprentice for at least a little while yet. It also stands to reason that if the hunter’s movement patterns hold true, he’s going to end up smack in the middle of the rift cluster. Right where you want him.” He cleared his throat a little awkwardly. “Apparently.”

“And there you go,” Blodgada said briskly, turning back to the lens. “We track him, and when he gets close enough, we strike.”

Byleistr nodded. “You and I. Helblindi. A few others. Ones we can trust to be discreet.” He looked around at the empty room for a moment before his gaze fell on Vornir. “I’m not sure what’s to be done here, though.”

“I can track him,” Blodgada offered, then frowned. “Unless I need to be at the negotiating table.”

“We can’t bring in any more watchers,” said Byleistr with an apologetic look at Vornir. “It’s not that I don’t trust your people, but there are simply too many of them. Frigga has a way of finding things out, and the fewer eyes that see this, the fewer mouths that can talk. Word of this _cannot_ get out.” He turned back to the lens. “We can’t take the chance.”

A sigh. “Looks like it’s you and me, Vornir,” Blodgada said. “It’s going to be rough, but we can’t risk losing him.”

“Of course,” came the reply. “But…” There was a silence, and Blodgada turned to Vornir. Bewilderment was plain on his face. “But why do you want to kill him? Who _is_ that?”

Blodgada glanced at Byleistr, who gave a short nod.

“That,” she said, “is Loki. Son of Odin. The Traitor.”

Vornir’s features grew hard and cold as he stepped toward the rift for a better look. His anger was palpable; it surprised Blodgada for a second, but then she understood. He had walked with her. He had seen firsthand what the Traitor had done. After a long moment, Vornir straightened decisively, strode to the shelves, and selected the chart of Midgard endpoints.

“Don’t worry,” he said to Blodgada and the king, sitting between two lenses and angling them both toward him. “I will not lose him. I won’t let you down. I swear.”

Byleistr gave him a firm, grateful nod, and Vornir went to work, furiously entering rift coordinates. Blodgada turned back to her own lens, focusing it carefully on the Traitor’s face. She felt Byleistr’s hand on her shoulder; he squeezed gently as he watched with her.

“Justice,” he said. “At last.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedcrack appreciated! The plot thickens thicker, as you can see. Happy Wednesday! <3


	14. Chapter 14

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Parker asked as he shoved a final pair of socks into his duffel bag, then took a brief look around to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.

“I’m sure,” Selvig replied, barely looking up from the sensor he was tweaking. “I didn’t get an invitation, for a start, and it would seem to be a family gathering.”

A grin as Parker double-checked the side pocket for the envelope that contained his ribbon and a few other things he’d need for the day of the wedding. Thor’s list for him had been brief; Aeslin’s was even shorter and largely consisted of caffeine and snacks. “You could always be my plus-one,” he observed, zipping the bag closed and straightening.

Selvig chuckled in reply as he made a final adjustment. “I’ll be fine, boy.” He closed the sensor case with a sharp, quiet click. “Just don’t dawdle. I’d hate to have to find a replacement for you this late in the game.”

Parker looked up with mock horror on his face. “You wouldn’t _dare_.” He tsked. “And after all we’ve been through.”

“Science waits for no one,” Selvig intoned firmly; the smile hovering just beneath the words belied his mood. He replaced the sensor in its foam nest, then snapped the storage chest shut. “You ready, then?”

Parker nodded as he pulled on a light jacket against the cool July weather. They’d shifted to Cornwall only a week or so earlier on Loki’s recommendation; he’d stayed in touch with Parker and Selvig even after returning to the field school on Orkney. Video calls that lasted until two or three in the morning weren’t unheard of, and on more than one occasion, Aeslin had sternly booted her intended and his laptop into a storage room so that she could get some rest. Parker hadn’t blamed her, and the first time he’d seen the god of mischief perched on a bucket in the midst of spare excavation kits and first aid supplies, he’d laughed so hard he’d had to excuse himself. He didn’t blame Aeslin one bit; she’d been working herself to the bone, and Loki was the first to admit that she needed all the sleep she could get.

Selvig didn’t bother with a coat as he strolled out into the hall and carefully locked the door before heading down to the car. Parker followed him, duffel bag bumping against his hip and garment bag thrown over one shoulder; they’d taken a couple of days on the way from Wales to Devon to stop in London in order to have Parker fitted for his tuxedo and allow him a quick peek at Aeslin’s dress. He’d sobbed like a child at the sight of her in it and then made her swear on the complete works of Colin Renfrew that she’d never tell a soul how hard he'd cried.

He chattered like a magpie to Selvig nearly the whole way to the train station, telling him all about the planned ceremony and what would happen after. It going to be a good mix of customs from the Aesir and Midgard both, and Parker was excited to see what would unfold. Selvig only smiled and interjected comments when he could get a word in edgewise, and he clapped Parker on the shoulder once he’d stopped in the unloading zone at the train station.

“Give them my best,” said the older man, “and have a drink for me.”

Parker grinned. “Done and done. Catch you in a week or so.”

***

Sam met him at the ferry dock. After a friendly hug in greeting, they made their way through the crowds; Wilson chuckled as he dodged a double stroller and ducked between two tour groups. Parker was close on his heels, slowed only fractionally by his bags. After a moment, Sam looked back, then slowed.

“Here,” he said, “hand me that.” He took Parker’s garment bag, slinging it easily over one arm with a grin. “I should have brought one of the big guys,” he observed. “Thor, maybe, or at least Steve. It’s like the Red Sea when either of those two walks through a crowd. It would made lugging your bags around a _whole_ lot easier.”

“What, no Redwing?” Parker asked, referring to the tiny drone Tony and Sam had been perfecting, but the soldier was already shaking his head. “I’m sure he could carry them.”

“And _thank_ you for using his name,” replied the soldier. “At last, someone gives him the respect he deserves. Didn’t bring him, though. No weapons, remember? Some are coping with that rule better than others, I have to say.”

An answering chuckle from Parker. “Tony?”

“Got it in one. He was okay with it until Thor banned the suit completely, up to and including that collapsible gauntlet he’s been field testing. Tony put up a bit of a fight, but not half as big of one as I thought he would. I think it was more for show than anything else; he doesn’t want to jinx this any more than Thor does.”

A thoughtful look crossed Parker’s face as they moved away from the crowds and toward the shore. “Eighty percent of you guys don’t need weapons to hurt someone,” he said, “and that’s not even counting Bruce. How does that even work?”

Sam shrugged. “We asked that, and apparently it’s more symbolic than anything else. A time for joy, not conflict. I guess that comes afterward when we’re all drunk out of our gourds at the post-wedding feast. Tony rented a whole building for that, by which I mean I think he just bought it to save on the security deposit and will sell it back once we’re finished and he’s repaired any damage.”

Parker snorted. “That sounds like a good plan.”

“Well, you know Tony,” Sam replied with a knowing grin. “Always practical.” He waved to Natasha, who lounged on the porch railing of one of the cottages scattered along the edge of the beach. She waved back, eyes hidden behind large sunglasses, and then she turned back to watching the tides.

“That’s the largest of the cabins,” the paratrooper went on. “I think we’re going to put a bunch of us in there; the brochure says it sleeps up to six, but they weren’t counting on a demigod or a super soldier, so we might have to make a few adjustments.” He pointed to another building. “We’ve also got those two, and then the one over there-” his hand swept to indicate a cottage that was set apart from the others, “is reserved for the newly nuptialized. Aeslin and Pepper will be staying it until the wedding, and then we’ll do some shifting later.”

“They’ve been living together for almost two years,” Parker said, brow furrowed. “What’s the difference?”

“ _Steve’s_ the difference,” came the reply. “Thor’s responsible for the Aesir traditions, and Steve has basically put himself in charge of at least some of the Midgardian ones, including not seeing the bride before the wedding. He’s taken it on himself to keep Loki in sight at all times the day of the ceremony, just in case.”

Parker laughed. “Ladies and gentlemen, America’s grandpa. Speaking of which, are they here yet?”

Sam shook his head as he led the way to the second cottage and opened the door. It seemed to be deserted; he indicated that Parker could drop his luggage wherever he wanted for the time being. Parker took his garment bag back, taking out the tuxedo and hanging it at the end of the neat line already in a back closet.

“They’ll be here on the first ferry tomorrow morning,” Sam answered. “Don’t worry; we’ve got plenty to keep us busy. Clint brought games. Says it’s payback time.”

“Oh dear.”

“No worries.” Sam clapped him on the shoulder as they went back into the sunlight. “Nat brought lots of bandaids.”

***

The negotiations for the Casket had so far lasted longer than all the rest of the negotiations put together. Byleistr had already tried several different tactics. He had argued for justice. He had cited historical precedent. He had traced the Casket’s ownership back for millennia, all in an attempt to sway Odin into giving it up. Nothing had worked. The All-Father remained as hard and unresponsive as stone.

His current tactic was guilt. Byleistr and a few representatives from the various mining and growing coalitions had stayed up long into the previous night calculating very specific sets of numbers. Byleistr was now showing the Asgardians how _he_ , not Laufey, would have used the Casket after the Destruction. Showing the number of Jotuns that would not have been lost had the power to walk the realms been in his possession. How he could have traded ore for food, perhaps on Alfheim, and saved this many Jotun. How he could have traded work for fuel here, saving this many. It was a dizzying array of maps, charts and numbers that grew ever higher.

Blodgada was having a little trouble following the math. She had been going to the station every night after the meetings to allow Vornir a few hours of sleep, then trying to catch a few hours herself before returning to the negotiation table the next morning. The long hours with little rest were catching up with her. She pushed down the impulse to close her eyes; at least she could rest her mind. She thought briefly of poor Vornir, out there at the station all alone. He spent his days watching the rifts for hours on end, staying alert for flickers of movement, scrambling to open nearby rifts when the target got out of range. Blodgada had the easier job, she realized. All she had to do was watch a table of Asgardians: Odin with his face of stone, Frigga with the tiny crease between her eyebrows. She let Byleistr’s voice wash over her and took a deep breath, reminding herself to stay focused.

The opening door was loud in the council chamber. Byleistr finished his sentence as the guard entered and stood stiffly at attention.

“Yes?” he said after a moment, his voice clear of the irritation he must have been feeling.

“Message for the Lieutenant, my liege,” the guard said, eyes straight ahead.

Blodgada’s eyes flicked to Byleistr, who nodded. With what she hoped was at least a slightly apologetic look, she pushed her chair back with a soft scrape and walked to the door. The guard handed her a folded scrap of parchment, and as she opened it, she recognized Vornir’s writing immediately. There were only two words.

_Come now._

She refolded the paper and sent the messenger away. Byleistr was watching her with studied curiosity; his expression was mirrored to some degree by everyone else in the room. Blodgada kept her voice carefully neutral.

“With your permission, my liege?”

Byleistr was well aware that there could be only one thing urgent enough to call her away. “Dismissed,” he said, sounding almost bored as he did so. Blodgada bowed to him, then gave a brief nod to Helblindi and another to the Asgardians. She strode from the room, boots making almost no sound on the stone; only after the door boomed shut behind her did she begin to run.

****

Blodgada pounded down the steps to the main watch chamber. “Please tell me we didn’t lose him again.”

“No, thank the very gods below,” Vornir replied in greeting. He didn’t turn around; his eyes were locked on the lenses as his hands flew over the controls. “I’d really rather not repeat that week of my life, thanks very much for asking. I thought Byleistr was going to have me executed.”

She shook her head as she came closer, eyes already on the cluster of rifts Vornir was watching. “You’ve mistaken him for Helblindi. Byleistr’s a little more patient; he would have bored you to death with a lecture on responsibility and disappointing your elders. I’ll tell you which path _I’d_ actually prefer.”

A grin as the apprentice adjusted a lever. “His consort’s with him. They’re on the move - have been for a while. My gut tells he’s headed in the general direction of the endpoint, but he’s also on one of those giant minecarts. Have I mentioned how much I hate those things? I hate them. There are so many rails and paths it can take; I’ve opened rifts to try to follow all the possibilities, but it goes so quickly I’m afraid I’m going to miss something.” He spared her the briefest of glances, his face a little embarrassed. “I can’t watch them all, and I don’t want to fail Byleistr again.”

A sympathetic nod. “Understood.” She bent over his shoulder and took note of the coordinate dials. “I’ll take these six on the east.”

He scooted his chair to the left as she grabbed one from another station. She maneuvered carefully across the room; Vornir had dragged control panels and stretched cables along the floor. The resultant mess ensured that he could watch eleven lenses from one chair. Two chairs, now, and as she squeezed herself into the space next to him, surrounded on all sides by lenses, he began to describe the specific cart they needed.

They watched together for several minutes, tense as springs, and then she saw a flash of movement. “Was that it?”

He looked over just in time to catch a glimpse before it was out of view. “That’s it.” He grabbed the chart of endpoints. He made some rapid calculations while mumbling under his breath; Blodgada was able to catch most of what he was saying.

“So if he’s there, heading roughly northwest, provided there are no changes in route…” his voice trailed off as he ran a finger along one map, then another. He lifted his head, squinting at the smallest of the rifts as he thought aloud. “One of these seven, I think. I hope.”

They both entered coordinates, watching each as best they could until the cart flew by again, and Blodgada didn’t miss the faint smile that came across Vornir’s face when he realized he’d been right. He didn’t seem to realize he’d even done it; he merely went back to his maps, working outward and narrowing what seemed a dizzying web of possibilities.

They spent hours at their posts, and Blodgada was reminded of long days spent in the original observatory. A familiar ache settled along her spine, and she stretched a little, not taking her eyes from the rifts. Vornir mimicked the motion without seeming to notice; his movements were a little slower, and she tapped him on the shoulder. He glanced over, face concerned, but she merely moved her finger in a circle with a stern look. A sheepish grin touched his face, and he stood, making a rapid circuit around the room to loosen his muscles.

Another movement, and Blodgada scrambled to open the next rifts; Vornir was back at her side in an instant. They waited and watched together, and just when Blodgada thought she had missed the Traitor, there was another blur of motion.

“He’s running out of places to go,” Vornir commented as they scanned the map for the next rifts. “He’s too close to the coast.” He chewed his lip thoughtfully. “A port, maybe. They’ve got lots of different boats. Little ones, big ones that look like troop transports but aren’t, unless I am ex _cru_ ciatingly bad at telling a civilian from a soldier. He could be headed for one of those.”

“Show me.”

Vornir busied himself at the lenses for a moment. “Here.” he said. She turned to see three lenses showing buildings with attached piers that stretched far into the sea. “These are the nearest to where he is.” Vornir pointed between lenses and the map. “Here, here and here. We’ve got quite a list of them, actually. Yfrid’s been tracking them; she likes boats. Her father’s a captain in the Royal Fleet.” He stopped thoughtfully for a moment. “Was. Anyway, they’ve all got schedules, and we’d almost gotten them down before- Hel’s _teeth._ ” Vornir lunged for the controls.

“What?” she said, peering at the lens. “What did you see?”

“Not what,” Vornir replied as he adjusted the view on one of the docks. “ _Who_. Recognize him?”

The man was standing on the platform, looking out across the water with a hand shading his eyes. He smiled, and in that moment, Blodgada knew him.

“The hunter’s apprentice.”

A nod. “More than that. The Traitor’s friend, too, if I’m any judge. Which makes it all the more interesting.”

“How so?” Blodgada’s brow knit. “Do you think he’s taking the same boat?”

“No,” Vornir said, tapping a long finger on one of the green specks on his map. “That’s this island here. From where he’s standing? There’s nowhere to go but the mainland; it’s the end of the road.”

The realization struck her in a second. “That’s where the Traitor’s going,” she breathed. “How far-”

“Less than ten thousand steps,” Vornir answered quietly. “The travel rift opens less than ten thousand steps away from that dock.”

Blodgada was moving before he’d even finished his sentence. Her chair scraped backward, teetering on two legs before it toppled with a crash.

“Keep them both in sight, if you can,” she called back over her shoulder. “I’m getting Byleistr.”

He gave a brief noise of acknowledgement, but any words that followed were lost as she sprinted from the room.

****

The negotiations seemed to be closing for the day as Blodgada returned to the council chamber. She had slowed to a walk on the outskirts of the palace, mindful of Asgardians that might be watching. Byleistr’s voice filtered through the barely-open door, offering polite nothings toward Odin and his party; she hovered outside the room for a moment to catch her breath before strolling in as casually as she could.

“Lieutenant,” Byleistr said mildly. “Welcome back.”

A nod to her king before she gave the Asgardians for a brief bow. “My apologies,” she told them before turning back to Byleistr, “but I fear an urgent matter requires your attention, your majesty.”

_Your majesty._

Code words only; no Jotun would ever address their king as such. It was undignified. Arrogant. What sort of king needed to be reminded of his splendor any time anyone spoke to him? Like many in the long line of succession before him, Byleistr much prefered _my liege_ , with its connotation of loyalty and trust. The term was a useful one, however; the Asgardians would think nothing of hearing it.

Byleistr’s brow knit with practiced concern, but his face was otherwise a mask of calm. “I see.” Inclining his head to Odin, then to Frigga, he let out a faint sigh. “My apologies as well, Lord Odin. All-Mother.  Duty, it seems, is an impatient master.”

While their attention was on Byleistr, Blodgada caught the eye of the head of the king’s elite guard, who nodded infinitesimally. He also knew the code, and was well-versed in the plan. His task was to gather the other warriors meant to accompany Byleistr and bring them to the observatory; first, though, he would speak to Drofn. The Quartermistress had a part to play, as well.

“Until tomorrow, then,” Byleistr said with a smooth lift of his chin. “Helblindi, with me.”

Clearly startled, Helblindi covered his slip with a rapid, dismissive bow to the Asgardian contingent and followed Byleistr out the door. Blodgada came close on their heels, and as the three of them left the palace, they fell into an easy sort of lockstep honed by years of going into battle together. Blodgada smiled at the realization, teeth bared against the blood beginning to sing in her veins after weeks of inactivity.

It was time to go to war.

****

Vornir was still in his seat when they entered the observatory’s main room. Helblindi glanced at the riftwatcher with a bit of suspicion in his face, but once he realized that Byleistr seemed to have no problem with the fact that Vornir was there, he merely shrugged and rested one hip on the map table. Blodgada closed the door softly, then nodded to Byleistr. It was Helblindi, however, who spoke first.

“What’s going on? Surely there’s a reason for dragging me all the way out here. I never went to the old observatory. Why did you think I’d care about the new one?” He looked around. “So to speak.”

“You’ll care,” murmured Blodgada as she walked past him to join Vornir. Helblindi’s brow went up, and he looked to his brother.

“We found the Traitor,” was all Byleistr said.

Helblindi stared for a second before realization dawned on his face. “I knew it,” he hissed after a long, quiet moment. “I _knew_ it. Those lying _bastards_.” He shook his head. “The Traitor. Alive.”

Byleistr’s smile managed to somehow be cold and reassuring at the same time. “Not for long.”

Momentary confusion touched Helblindi’s face, but then he followed Byleistr’s gaze to a neat pile in a darkened corner of the room. Weapons and what little armor Jotun warriors required had been stashed and kept ready for use at a moment’s notice. Helblindi gave a small, slow chuckle. “No,” he agreed. “Not for long.”

Blodgada bent close to Vornir, searching the rifts open in front of him. “Still got him?” she asked quietly.

A conspiratorial smile. “Yep. Right where we thought he’d end up.” Vornir raised his voice, attracting Byleistr and Helblindis’ attention. “From what I can tell, he’s brought more than a few supplies too. I think he'll be there a while.” He glanced up as the king approached, and Byleistr gestured for him to continue. “My guess would be that it’s mostly clothing. They wear a lot of clothing.” The barest hint of a wince crossed the young man’s face, and Blodgada smothered a smile as Vornir gathered himself and started again. His finger landed on the map of Midgard. “He's settled on the island here, roughly six thousand steps from the travelrift.”

A knock at the door, and Blodgada ghosted through the dim room, already calling ice to her fingers. She cracked open the door to see Drofn and Byleistr’s guard captain standing together just outside the entrance. With a nod to them, she dismissed the magic from her hands and widened the gap. The two slipped in, followed by several of the king’s elite. Not the full contingent. Not yet.

“He's not alone,” Vornir was saying as she led the others back to the center of the room. I'm counting maybe eight or ten people in his party. More than that on the island at large, but I don’t think they’re with him. Just these. This might be the best chance you’ll have.”

“Agreed,” Byleistr told him. “From what I’ve learned about them, I’m certain we can take ten Midgardians. You’ve done well.”

Vornir beamed in the lamplight as Byleistr turned toward the large table in the middle of the room, beckoning for those that had just come in to join him. Keeping half her attention on the rifts Vornir was still watching, Blodgada listened as the king began briefing his soldiers. He showed them pictures of the Traitor. A few were passingly familiar with the Asgardian, having been there either when Thor had broken the treaty or later, when the Traitor had come to bargain with Laufey. Byleistr spoke of Loki’s fighting style and his skill in magic while each studied the map spread out on the table.

“From what we’ve been able to determine, the endpoint opens out into a fairly large cavern,” Blodgada explained to those crowded around the table. She traced a finger between the endpoint and the speck of island. “All of this is water; we have no way of telling how deep it is.”

One of the soldiers shrugged. “Wouldn’t matter anyway.”

A nod, and Byleistr took over. “As of now, the plan is to come around this headland; it will give us the best chance for a surprise attack. We’ll stay as close to the shoreline as we can without giving away our position. As far as we know, the cavern where the rift opens is uninhabited. We’ll have time to make any adjustments when we can see things a little better.” He glanced up to the soldier who’d spoken. “How many will you need for a full tunnel?”

“Three to be certain,” came the reply, “four if you’re wise.”

“Four, then.” Byleistr turned to the guard captain. “Gather the rest and come back quick as you can. I don’t know how much time we have.” A brief bow, and the captain rapidly left the room; the door had barely closed behind them when the king spoke again. “Drofn.”

The Quartermistress straightened. “My liege.”

“You know what to do?”

She gave a small grin. “Your timing couldn’t be better. The first shipment is due to arrive tomorrow, along with great pomp and distinction, I’m sure.”

“You can stall them, then?”

“For as long as you need, and longer. Not to worry.” She tilted her chin toward the stash in the corner, where Helblindi and some of the newly-arrived guard were already sorting through the stack. “You’ll find enough supplies in there for a day or two. I couldn’t spare much more than that.”

“We won’t be long,” Byleistr replied, “but I appreciate your forethought. You have my thanks.”

Drofn bowed lightly, the smile still on her pale blue face; with a nod to Blodgada, she left the room as well, hurrying to prepare for her duties. Byleistr went to join his brother; she felt more than heard Vornir come up next to her, lenses abandoned for the moment.

“Don't you need to get ready?” His voice was a little hesitant.

Distracted as she committed the path to memory, she glanced up. “Ready? What do you mean?”

Vornir gestured vaguely at her head and shoulders. “Your hair,” he finally said. “You can’t fight with it like that, right?” She raised an eyebrow, but he gamely soldiered on. “What if someone grabs it?”

“If someone is close enough to grab it, then they're close enough to die,” Helblindi said. He’d finished his perusal of the supplies and was now sitting in a watcher’s chair, sharpening his knife.

“I'll be all right,” she assured Vornir. “I’ve done this before.”

His worried face did not clear. “You’re sure?”

Helblindi chuckled again. “Look, sprout. Not three weeks ago you came galloping into the courtyard screaming about the Blood Lieutenant. That means you’ve heard about Karnsa.”

“Yes,” Vornir admitted after a second’s hesitation, his eyes darting between Helblindi and Blodgada like a child caught stealing a treat. “I also heard she doesn't like to talk about it, so I haven’t- _didn’t_ bring it up. Not until I had to.”

“Helblindi, please-” she began, but he spoke anyway.

“She doesn’t talk about it,” he said, wiping his blade with a cloth, “because she doesn’t have to. The stories speak for themselves, and _almost_ every one of them is true.”

And there it was. Out in the open at last, and the look on Vornir’s face was a familiar one. She’d seen in on others, far too many times before, and that alone was reason enough to keep silent about what had happened those centuries ago. The riftwatcher’s face was a mask of shock as he faced her. She braced herself for what inevitably came next; there would be questions, awkward ones, but he had earned the right to know the truth. Blodgada waited to see if his expression would become disgust or fear. She’d seen enough of both.

It became neither; instead, he burst into sudden, merry laughter, startling the soldiers coming into the room. Now it was her turn to stare in shock and confusion.

“Gods below,” he finally gasped out. “They don’t have a _chance_.”

“Something funny?” Byleistr said, settling armor on his shoulders as he approached them.

Vornir collapsed onto his chair, forcing down helpless little giggles as he refocused his lenses. “No, my liege.” He wiped his eyes discreetly. “Everything is still in order.”

Helblindi looked over at the guard captain, who had just finished outfitting his remaining soldiers. A confirmatory nod, and Byleistr straightened from where he was peering into the small watchrift.

“Well then. Captain?”

“Aye, my liege,” the captain, glancing at the contingent of elite warriors gathered in the large room. “We stand ready.”

Byleistr turned toward his brother and Blodgada. “And you?”

“More than ready.” Helblindi shoved his knife into his boot and stood, grinning. “Long have I waited for vengeance.”

“This is for justice,” Blodgada corrected, coming to stand next to him.

“This is for Jotunheim,” clarified Byleistr firmly. “We go for the sake of Jotunheim.” He looked at each in turn, and at last, pleased with what he saw, Byleistr nodded. A grim smile lit his face.

“Move out.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Wednesday! Feedcrack appreciated.
> 
> As a bit of housekeeping, we're still writing about two chapters ahead, but life has been pretty crazy on my end lately. I'm going to try to stick to the schedule, but I feel like quality work is more important. I'll keep you posted if the schedule will change. <3
> 
> Love you all!
> 
> Notes: The cavern to which the Jotun are referring is Fingal's Cave. Look up some images, if you can. It's pretty amazing.


	15. Chapter 15

It was almost like watching a dance. Loki would drop into a chair, adjusting his tie or his shirt as he did so, only to stand a few moments later. He’d stroll a few steps, or perhaps lean on a table, and Parker noticed that somehow, some way, Steve was always there to block his line of sight to the cottage where Aeslin was getting dressed. The soldier was taking no chances, and Parker wondered if Loki even noticed. From the state of Loki’s tie, Parker was beginning to think he didn’t.

Parker intercepted Loki after his third prowl around the perimeter of the open space in which Thor would perform the ceremony, sidling up to Loki as the other shifted the mead goblet infinitesimally to the right, then back again. Parker gave him a gentle nudge with his elbow.

“Nervous?”

A gentle scoff as Loki straightened a pair of ribbons, then started on another of his languid, purposeful strolls toward the water and back. “Not in the least.”

“Okay there, god of lies,” Parker replied with a roll of his eyes as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his rolled-up tuxedo pants and fell into step beside him. “Then riddle me this. Why is it that every time I’ve looked at you for the last thirty minutes, for _some_ reason, the image of a beautifully tailored white cotton sack full of overcaffeinated leopard cubs has come to mind?”

He stooped to pick up a rock, throwing it into the sea in a graceful motion that Parker could never hope to imitate. “Can’t imagine,” he answered with the shadow of a grin.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” Parker observed, watching as Loki skipped another stone across the surf. “I don’t care if you’re a prince or a god or whatever the hell you are now. It’s completely normal. I know she’s been climbing the walls all morning, too.” He dug a toe thoughtfully into the sand, then looked out across the ocean. “Full disclosure, though. I have no idea how many nerves are normal at a wedding. I’ve never had one. My sister eloped, just ran down to the JP with her fiance one day during lunch. I’m still not sure if my mom’s forgiven her, but my guess is the jury will remain out until the first grandkid.” He grinned, then glanced up as Steve joined them. “We seem to have some pre-wedding jitters,” he told the soldier. “Any advice?”

A slight smirk as Steve stared out across the bay. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Right,” Parker said after a moment. “Right.” He turned back to Loki without missing a beat. “I’m just saying, nerves are normal. If you’re having too many, that might be something to talk about, sure. You don’t need to rush into things; you haven’t even been engaged a year yet. You have time.”

Another stone shot across the bay, skittering beneath the one that Steve tossed. “No,” Loki said. “We don’t.”

Something in his tone made Parker look over at him; Loki didn’t seem to notice, but in that moment, Parker saw a strange, sad weight in his face. Shattered immortality. A death sentence to one who thought he’d live forever. A god running out of time.

Sam’s voice cut across his thoughts; he looked over his shoulder to where the paratrooper stood near the wedding table with his phone in his hand.

“I’ve got an ETA of thirty minutes from Stark and Banner,” he said, “so if anyone feels the need to have a meltdown, now’s the time.”

A laugh as Steve threw a final stone and then returned to the central table; Parker looked back to Loki. The fleeting expression had vanished, replaced by a serene smile as he closed his eyes against the sun glittering on the water. Seeming to feel Parker’s gaze on him, he shook his head.

“I think we’re good here,” Parker told Wilson over his shoulder, then turned back to watch the sea. His brow knit as the water beyond the breakers swirled a bit, a tiny eddy in a vast ocean. The waves around it grew more sluggish, lapping gently at the edges of the spot that bloomed larger by the moment. It stilled slowly in the bright sunlight, looking for all the world like a patch of ice, and Parker stared in confusion.

“What in the _hell_ -” he heard himself say, and then the ocean exploded upward into foam. Figures strode from within a maelstrom of ice and steam, wading through the sea as though it were a puddle. Each was over ten feet tall, blue-skinned and armored.

Parker stumbled backward with a shout of alarm and dropped ungracefully to the sand; he barely felt Loki crouch next to him, hand on Parker’s arm.

 _Not again not again not again_ , was all he could think as Loki hauled him mostly to his feet, dragging him away from the shoreline as he did so. The lead creature stalked out of the surf, trailing glittering droplets like a shroud, bright red eyes alert. Its gaze fixed on Parker, who shrank away without thinking.

 _Not me_ , Parker suddenly realized. _Loki_. The thing’s eyes narrowed, and it growled a single word that Parker couldn’t understand. Loki obviously did, though, and his grip tightened painfully around Parker’s forearm for a split second before Loki took them both to the rocky ground, shielding Parker as best he could. A piercing wind flicked over them in the same moment, taking Parker’s breath away; a chair several feet behind them vanished in a hail of splinters.

Loki swore, low and vicious. He shoved Parker desperately ahead of him toward the shelter of a cottage that seemed further away by the moment. Another, closer chair disappeared, raining shards of wood and ice down around them; Loki cursed again and glanced over his shoulder. Against his better judgment, Parker did the same to see more creatures fanning out behind the first. Dimly, he heard shouts and answering bellows as Natasha and Clint went to work, but try as he might, he was unable to take his eyes of the giant in front of him. Loki was scrambling in the sand, searching for some sort of weapon as the thing took aim again. There was a sudden rush of noise, and its shot went wide as Steve smashed into it. The creature stumbled to one side, the distraction giving Loki enough time to yank Parker away.

Another shout and a crash as Thor hit the wedding table, tossed like kindling by one of the larger creatures; it toppled over, sending ribbons, goblets and everything else flying. Thor was up again in a moment to rejoin the fray, and Loki half dragged, half led Parker toward the relative safety behind the oak table. He shoved Parker roughly to the ground, then made as if to go. Parker grabbed for his sleeve.

“Wait. _Wait_. Do you know them? What are they?”

Loki looked back at him for a split second. “Jotun,” he replied, voice tight. “They’re Jotun.”

***

Thor regained his feet in a second and launched himself at the nearest Jotun. His hand twitched, reflexively calling Mjolnir to his grip before he remembered that she was still sealed away in the wedding chest, awaiting the completion of his brother’s vows. The bindings could be broken prematurely; of that he was sure, but it would take time.

Time they might not have. He clenched his fist and scanned the scattered remnants of the wedding for another weapon.

There were well over a dozen Jotun on the beach now; two still stood in the breakers with teeth and weapons bared. Thor dodged and spun, feeling his strikes bounce off armor and magical shielding. He let out a growl of frustration as he wrenched a chair from the ground and flung it at the nearest giant. It shattered and sent the creature reeling; it had barely had time to regain its feet before Natasha had scooped up a wooden shard from the wreckage, stabbing into the back of the thing’s leg. It barely penetrated, but she didn’t stop; a spinning kick sent it further into skin and muscle and sent the Jotun to its knees.

A flash of movement, and Thor barely had time to turn before another giant was on him, driving him into the surf. He whipped his head to the side, squinting his eyes closed against the flecks of sand and ice that fountained from the hole the thing’s fist left in the ground. He shoved upward, and the creature was on its feet again in less than a breath. Thor wiped blood and seawater from his lips as he faced the creature, certain now that these Jotun were far beyond those that he and his brother had fought on Jotunheim a lifetime ago. This was a war party, in all likelihood trained by a king so powerful he’d nearly managed to best the All-Father. Laufey had taken Odin’s eye in the last campaign. Thor didn’t want imagine what he might take in another.

 _Not Laufey,_ Thor suddenly remembered as he ducked beneath a flung spear of ice and swept the giant’s legs from beneath her. _Laufey is dead. Dead by Loki’s-_

Understanding solidified, clear and sudden, and Thor rammed his shoulder into his opponent’s solar plexus as he frantically scanned the battlefield around him. The Jotun were ranged across the beach; Thor’s allies were sorely outnumbered, giving ground slowly as they were pressed toward the sea. It was almost impossible to see past the wall of frost giants, and as Thor felt water wash across his bare heels, another thought struck him. They were being blocked. Deliberately herded away from something, and Thor had a sinking feeling that he knew what that thing was. A brief glance around the chaos of battle confirmed his worst fear.

Loki was nowhere to be seen.

***

Parker peeked over the edge of the overturned table and cursed under his breath. Loki was shifting like a wraith, his motions a blur as he fought the two creatures that had him pinned; they’d made for Loki almost immediately and had easily separated him from the other fighters. As best Parker could tell, Loki had allowed it for reasons only he understood, taking them both on at once while pulling them a little further away from Parker’s hiding place, and the biologist felt the same creeping awe mixed with fear that had struck him the first time he’d seen Loki fight on the helicarrier.

This was different, though. With no weapons, Loki had resorted to anything he could get his hands on, and even as he watched, one of the monsters shattered his makeshift dagger with a bolt of ice. Parker ducked back behind his shelter with a yelp as shards of wood and glittering ice flew over his head. He leaned against the surface, feeling the spilled wedding mead soaking through his tuxedo shirt, and the fear in his stomach was replaced by a fierce, sudden rage. His jaw set, and he lifted his head to peer once again at the melee before him.

The two giants had moved, still clearly trying to push Loki still further from his allies. Their backs were to him, and in that moment, Parker saw his opportunity. He crouched as low as he could, mimicking the moves he’d picked up while being chased by Barton and Nat through the forests and running trails around Malibu. A flicker of gratitude brushed through him as he at last understood what had been happening all along. _People show love in stupid ways,_ Tony had once told him during sushi night after a gift to Pepper had gone particularly wrong. _It’s what makes us human_. _We’re just doing our best, right?_

Stupid ways. As stupid as two trained killers trying to teach a cross-country-loving astrobiology nerd how to stay alive in a fight without actually admitting that was what they were doing.

Keeping as low a profile as possible, he moved slowly but carefully behind the nearest monster. A flash of metal caught his eye; as the giant reeled backward from a vicious flying kick to the stomach, Parker darted forward and yanked the dagger from the scabbard in the creature’s boot, scrambling away immediately. Focused as the giant was on Loki, he didn’t notice as Parker gauged the distance, then bolted forward again. He slammed the dagger as high and hard as he could into the thing’s deep blue skin. It slid in like a whisper, so sharp that Parker felt almost no resistance. Yanking his hand to one side, he left a gash in the thing’s side as he dragged the blade through skin until it caught in the metal and leather of its armor.

The hilt was wrenched from his hand as the creature howled and whirled to face him. Parker barely had time to react before the thing grabbed him by the neck, lifting him off the ground with a snarl. Struggling for breath, Parker’s vision narrowed to the thing’s bright red eyes, then darkened further as a brutal, piercing cold burned into his skin and bones. He clawed uselessly at the monster’s fingers, and then suddenly Parker was falling. Tumbling helplessly through the air, he hit the ground with a force that knocked the remaining breath from his lungs. Pain flooded through him; he tasted copper in his mouth and knew vaguely what that might mean. He dimly watched the creature pull the knife from its own side, flipping the blade in its hand with what might have been a smile. Parker grinned back as best he could, feeling blood bubbling from his lips, and then everything went black.

***

Draw them away. Draw them away.

_It is the only coherent thought Loki has as he scrambles for a weapon, cursing Thor for his adherence to the old ways and his own lack of magic with equal fervor. He can hear shouting from the water, rage, perhaps, or pain. He is not quite sure. The sounds dim into the background as he focuses on the pair that singled him out immediately. They move with the ease of warriors long accustomed to fighting together, their movements oddly familiar, and a faint wisp of memory ghosts through Loki’s mind. Patterns of scars. Shadows of movement beside Laufey’s throne. Scarlet eyes studying Loki as he promised Laufey and his people salvation in exchange for Odin’s death._

_Studying him as he’d lied through his teeth, desperate to prove himself to the All-Father and terrified that those same scarlet eyes would see right through him._

_Loki slides beneath the spike of ice the larger of the giants casts, his mind working rapidly. He doesn’t recognize the taller of the two, but the other wears what Loki knows to be the mantle of a king. This, then, is Laufey’s heir. His son._

_Loki’s brother._

_The thought startles him for a fraction of a second; he barely dodges an attack from the taller warrior. Shadow falls across the creature’s face as it twists away from his answering blow, and, raised in profile, Loki now sees that the markings on the two giants’ faces are nearly identical._

_Not brother._ Brothers, _and for the briefest moment, Loki feels a bubble of hysterical laughter in his chest. The wheel turns round again, and his bill has come due. Blood for blood, and these Jotun will not stop until they have it. Loki knows it. Knows it better than his own name, and as he skids and shifts across the churned earth, shouts loud in his ears once more, he wonders if he should just give it to them._

_Memory comes hard and fast, sweeping through him like a tide._

_\- Stay, she whispers, shaking so badly that her teeth are chattering. He holds her tightly in the darkness of the duty locker, eyes stinging with tears and his heart breaking for her with every new breath. -_

_\- I promise. -_

_He scoops a handful of sand, throwing it into the first creature’s face; it takes a step back with a hiss, and Loki uses the opportunity to lash out at the other, landing a solid kick to its stomach._

_\- Stay, he begs, fingernails digging into her legs and blood dripping onto her jeans, and she soothes cool fingers across the scar on his neck, her touch the only salve he will ever need. -_

_\- I promise. -_

_A single misstep, and the second creature lands a lucky strike; Loki feels a burning line on his forehead as the thing twists away, the ice on its hand tinged red. Loki’s focus sharpens, his movements sure and swift, and drops of dark blood scatter as the Jotun pulls back, forearm gashed._

_\- I promise. -_

_He will not give them what they want. His blood is no longer theirs; what was left of the prince who betrayed them bled out onto the Other’s workshop floor long ago. He is not theirs. He is not Odin’s. He is hers and she is his, body and soul. Bound to her and to this realm as he never was to another, lost as he was beneath Thor’s brilliance._

_\- I promise. -_

_Loki steps forward again, the smell of crushed flowers and spilled mead strong in the air. A flicker of motion catches his eye, and suddenly the Jotun prince gives a scream of pure rage. It turns, blood flying wide as it reaches down for something hidden from view. It straightens again triumphantly with something - some_ one _\- dangling from its grip._

_Parker._

_The young man is fighting, scratching at the Jotun’s vambraces like a wild thing. The creature raises him higher, fingers clenching like talons around Parker’s neck, and Loki watches helplessly as Parker is flung to the ground like a doll. He knows that Parker has done it for a reason, sacrificed himself to buy Loki time, but Loki cannot move. He is frozen for a moment too long, staring at the boy, and by the time Loki sees the gleam of light sliding along the edge of a thin, perfect blade of ice, it is too late._

_Numb with shock and horror, Loki barely feels the blade slide between his ribs; instead, it is as though the Jotun king has punched him full in the chest, knocking the breath from his lungs. He feels himself floating for a strange, quiet moment, and then the sword is pulled from his body, leaving fire in its wake as he drops to the ground._

_He cannot move; he can only stare at the sky above him in the second before the creature steps forward again, bathing him in shadow. Thicker darkness crowds the edge of his vision, threatening to drown him, and as the creature readies itself for another strike, Loki breathes the words that he swore a lifetime ago that she would never have to hear from him again._

Forgive me.

***

_The music is loud in the cottage as Pepper works a delicately filigreed pin into Aeslin’s hair. It is a simple design, in keeping with her dress and the ceremony in general. It will be the only thing she wears in her hair, a symbol harking back to the moment in Stark Tower. It is only fitting, she muses as Pepper steps back a moment to survey her work._

_“What do you think?” she asks, and Aeslin turns her head to study it critically._

_“It’s perfect. I think,” Aeslin replies after a moment, and Pepper gives her an understanding smile._

_“It’s all right to be nervous,” the other woman says with a twitch to her lips as she runs her fingers soothingly through Aeslin’s hair. “You’re supposed to be. It makes you normal.”_

_Aeslin smiles at Pepper’s reflection in the mirror. “Is it that obvious?”_

_“And then some,” comes the unapologetic answer, “but if you think you’re bad, take comfort in the fact that your fiance’s even worse. Barton’s been giving me a play-by-play of the number of times he’s fixed his tie. I think the last count was 26.”_

_A blink. “They decided on ties? When did that happen? Last I heard they were going without to give it a more Aesir look.”_

_“Hold on.” Pepper flicks back through her text messages. “About twenty minutes ago, it looks like. Right before Tony and Bruce left to make sure everything’s on track with the banquet hall, but don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll change it back at least one more time before we get out there.”_

_Aeslin smirks a little as she stands, the georgette overlay of her skirt flowing down her legs as she paces a few steps across the cottage. Her bare feet make no sound as she glances around for her shoes, but it won’t be time to put them on for a little while yet. Parker will come to fetch her once Thor has finished setting things up and Bruce and Tony have returned from town._

_She is toying with her ring when the song ends. There is a brief moment of silence before a new, quieter one begins. Faintly, beyond the edges of the music, she hears a noise that is almost familiar. Pepper lifts her head from searching through her phone for more suitable music, wrinkling her nose at the dim sounds from outside._

_“Just like them to start the party without the bride,” she says with a sigh. “I guess that mean’s Tony’s back early.”_

_A sudden silence descends as Aeslin flicks the speaker off, and she strains to make sense of what she’s hearing. Something cold begins to condense in the pit of her stomach, and she is moving almost before she knows it; her skirts eddy and flow around her like water. Her hand is already on the knob before she spares a glance back at Pepper._

_“Stay here,” is all she can think to say, and then she shoves through the door and into a nightmare._

_Aeslin has no idea what the creatures are, only that there are too many of them. She sprints across the sand, heedless of the rocks cutting into the soles of her feet. The giants are a mass of blue skin and bright metal, and above their cries and shouts she thinks she can dimly hear Steve or maybe Clint yelling something about the cottage. Not hers. The other building, where a large, heavily-carved chest holds every weapon her friends brought. A chest that Thor wove spells across hours ago in preparation for the ceremony, and one whose enchantment cannot be broken until after the wedding has been sealed. The thought hits her like a brick to the spine._

_No weapons._

_Not one._

_A howl lifts above the noise, and she spins to see two giants near the overturned table. One clutches its ribs, and as it reels to one side, beyond it she sees Loki. Blood flows from a cut on his head, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he battles the remaining creature, movements rapid and graceful in the warm summer light. The first giant pulls something from its body, metal reflecting light as it bends down, and Loki shifts his attention from the creature in front of him for the barest of moments._

_It is enough, though, and suddenly there is a flicker of magic and sunlight gleaming on ice. The ground drags at her steps as she stumbles forward, screaming words she cannot force past her lips, and she can do nothing._

_Nothing._

_The blade slams into Loki’s chest, the force behind the blow lifting him from the ground until the creature yanks its weapon free. Loki staggers backward, crimson already blossoming on his shirt as he collapses to the sand, and as the thing steps forward again, Aeslin feels her levees shatter._

_Power fills her to her bones, burning through every cell of her body and leaping giddily through her veins. She does not stop it, does not try to control it, does not even feel the pain that knifes through her temples. Instead she hoards it, greedily drawing more from the depths until it trickles from her fingertips, a burden too great to carry alone. The creature lifts his blade again, but the stroke never falls._

_With a cry torn from a soul already broken beyond repair, Aeslin closes her eyes and flings both arms outward. The magic rushes from her, smashing into the creature like a maelstrom and disintegrating it where it stands. Its companion whirls, horror on its features before it steps toward Aeslin with a snarl; she flicks a hand again, and the thing is tossed like driftwood in a hurricane. It hits the ground several meters away, slamming into another of its kind, but Aeslin has already forgotten it exists as she sprints toward Loki._

_The pain returns before she is halfway there, searing through her head like lightning and driving her to her knees, stomach heaving and struggling for air. She crawls the last few feet across sand and stones, knowing in her heart that she is too late._

_Again._

_***_

Blodgada lashed out, ice blade whistling through empty air as the blond idiot ducked, smashing through the weapon as he passed. She stifled a curse as she called another; this was a complication the Jotun had not foreseen. Everything to this point had gone according to plan: the trek to the rift, the journey through the Void, the hushed instructions in the strange cave into which they’d emerged. The tunnel beneath the sea had worked better than Byleistr could have hoped, and they had made faster time than even the mages had predicted. Then they had stepped onto the beach and right into Odin’s elder son. After the initial shock, Byleistr and Helblindi had spotted the Traitor and had moved quickly to isolate him, leaving Blodgada to deal with Thor and his allies.

The Midgardians were a surprise, and nothing like the Jotun had assumed they would be. These were clearly warriors, trained as harshly and thoroughly as Blodgada herself; it gave her pause for a moment before she waded into the fray. The Jotun outnumbered them easily, and they were not here for a pitched battle. They only needed to keep them busy while Byleistr and his brother saw to the Traitor.

She caught a glimpse of him as she whirled, another blade forming on her arm before she had even completed the turn; Byleistr and Helblindi had managed to steer Loki away from the main group. Blodgada thought she saw the apprentice in the brief moment before the king blocked her view, but she dismissed him almost immediately. Unlike his companions, he didn’t seem like much of a warrior. Loki himself was fighting both princes, but he seemed different somehow. His skill was still lethal, of that she was certain, but there were no tricks. No deception or illusions that she could see through the swirl of battle. It troubled her a little, but she pushed down the thought; her fight was with Thor.

Blodgada swung again, fist striking sand. Thor slithered out of the way, regaining his feet quickly. His hand seemed to move of its own accord, and she braced herself against an inevitable blow as he called his hammer to him.

It never fell. The movement had been a feint, and she realized with sudden clarity that he didn’t have it. The son of Odin stood before her weaponless; she gave him a vicious grin as she stepped forward again, sword at the ready.  She had almost driven him into the sea, where his lighter weight and smaller feet would leave him more vulnerable to the movement of the waves than a Jotun would be; she grunted and gave a tiny bit of ground as he rammed into her with his shoulder. Not completely weaponless, after all.

Suddenly, over the shouting, Blodgada heard the familiar sound of Helblindi cursing. She timed a heavy blow with a wave to knock Thor off balance; he stumbled just long enough for her to look toward the noise. Helblindi was bleeding, his damned knife caught in his own armor. He held the apprentice by the neck, the smaller man's feet kicking helplessly, and then, with a snarl, Helblindi threw him toward the Traitor. She didn’t see the boy land; Thor had recovered and needed her full attention.

With another feint, Thor dashed past her toward the Traitor. Blodgada slashed at his back, forcing him to turn and fight her instead of going to his brother’s aid. She could see the Traitor over his head. Helblindi was still staggering a little from his wound, but Byleistr was the perfect Jotun warrior. His blades were so clear and hard as to be nearly invisible, and Blodgada knew from personal experience how sharp they were. Helblindi had never had the necessary control for blades like that, and even after years of leading her own soldiers, Blodgada had never been able to equal Byleistr’s skill in weapons. She watched the two for a brief second, impressed in spite of herself. Even weaponless, Loki was putting up one Hel of a fight; king and trickster were nearly matched.

Nearly, but not completely. Byleistr was the greater warrior in the end, as she had known he would be. She saw the blood spreading across the Traitor’s shirt; he staggered, falling backward as though in slow motion. Byleistr stepped forward, and Blodgada felt her heart clench with a fierce joy.

She heard a cry of anguish, and Blodgada’s eyes flicked toward the sound. The Traitor’s consort. Only a Midgardian. The frost giant began to turn away, but something about the woman stopped her. The hair on her arms went up in the split second before the woman flung out her arms, throwing some sort of sand or mist, and Blodgada’s eyes followed it as it rushed toward the Traitor.

Toward Byleistr.

The mist hit the Jotun like a storm, destroying him in less than a heartbeat and leaving nothing in its wake. Shocked at the sudden violence, Blodgada could only stare in horror as her king died.

Again.

The scream was loud in her ears; she realized that it was her own. Thor turned to see what happened, seeming to forget her as he sprinted toward the Traitor. A small part of Blodgada told her she should follow, but she ignored the thought as she whirled toward her new target. Someone moved to block her as she charged toward the woman; she thought it might be one of the Midgardians, but she neither knew nor cared who it actually was. She didn’t even spare a look as she struck out; hot blood splashed onto her arm as she strode past. The woman had stumbled and was crawling toward the Traitor. Blodgada called the magic to her arm, ice solidifying into a blade as she stalked closer, but Thor got there first. He stood in her way, back to her as he screamed a single word into the heavens.

A familiar crash, a searing light, and Blodgada’s scream of rage turned to terror. She threw herself backward, scrabbling across the sand and holding one arm up to block her eyes from the blowing grit and the blinding glare. It was the Bifrost, and it was _right there_ , and Blodgada could not even gather her thoughts enough to run.

Someone grabbed her arm and shouted in her ear. Unable to tear her eyes from the light in front of her, it took her a moment to recognize the voice of Byleistr’s guard captain.

“Fall back!” he was shouting. “Fall back! We must get the king to safety!”

 _The king_ , she thought dimly as she was dragged to her feet. How could they get Byleistr to safety? He’d been scattered to dust. The sight flashed across her mind again, and as she blinked tears away, she suddenly understood. The largest of the guards were dragging Helblindi bodily toward the surf. The prince was fighting them, screaming as he lunged for the Bifrost, his blood darkening the sand. The rest of the raiding party were ranged around him, blades facing outward as the mages worked frantically to begin a new tunnel beneath the sea. A brief count confirmed it; all the Jotun had left the fight and were surrounding Helblindi. Protecting their king.

Blodgada numbly followed the captain to the tunnel, stopping at the last moment to glance back. The Bifrost was gone. The Midgardians were regrouping, watching the Jotun warily as they saw to their wounded. Their dead, perhaps. Blodgada did not care either way.

Only one Jotun had fallen, and he had not left a body. There was nothing further to be done. Not knowing what else to do, she turned toward the tunnel beneath the sea, following her king.

As she had always done.

***

_He feels her hands on him, pressure on his ribs, but there is little pain. Opening his eyes against the sunlight, he sees her outlined against the bright blue sky, and it is the most beautiful thing he has ever known. Dark streaks of blood stain the skin below her ear; he tries to reach up to wipe it away, but his arm is heavy. So heavy. Fog encroaches along the edges of his vision again, and he forces it away as best he can. She looks away for a moment, screaming for his brother, then turns to him, face white against the hair tumbling along her bare shoulders._

_“I’m sorry,” he begins, the words catching in his throat; she shakes her head, tangling her wedding dress into a makeshift bandage that she presses harder against the ache in his chest. Her head lifts again, and again she calls his brother’s name._

_Her voice softens as she looks back at Loki, but he cannot tell what she is saying to him; past and present intertwine as he tries to focus. An island at the edge of the world and a helicarrier suspended half a mile above earth blend seamlessly, memory clear as water._

_\- Every person I have ever said those words to has gone away, she tells him. Every single one. Don’t you understand? I can’t let you go, too. -_

_Loki tries to lift his hand again, and this time his fingers brush clumsily against her lips._

_“It’s not your fault,” he says; she stares at him, uncomprehending._

_“Lie still,” she finally replies. “Please just-” her voice breaks, and he tries again._

_“Not your fault,” he repeats, a faint smile on his face. “I’m glad you told me. I’d do it again. All of it. A thousand times over, just to hear you say it.”_

_“Shut up,” she whispers desperately. “Shut up shut up_ shut up- _Thor!”_

_His brother shouts a word, hoarse and ragged, and Loki hears a sudden, familiar peal of thunder. A hole opens in the expanse above him, lightning in a blue sky, and sudden fear shoots through him._

_“I can’t,” he hears himself say. “I can’t, please don’t-” and then the world vanishes in an explosion of light and agony._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback appreciated! happy wednesday. <3 
> 
> we're almost caught up to what we're actively writing; real life has been crazy lately. as i said before, i'll do my best to keep to the schedule, but please be patient. :) love to you all! thanks for sticking around!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I could speak a million lies, a million songs,  
>  A million rights, a million wrongs in this balance of time  
> But if there was a single truth, a single light  
> A single thought, a singular touch of grace  
> Then following this single point, this single flame,  
> This single haunted memory of your face_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter draws heavily from the one-shot titled "A Thousand Years". I can't make the link work, so if you need to reference, that's the one to look for. :)

_“Well, well, well,” comes a warm, curious voice. “If it isn’t the god of a thousand lives.”_

_“Lies,” he corrects automatically, the words rough against his raw throat. “God of lies.”_

_A rustle of fabric, a shrug, perhaps. “As you wish. We’ve heard it both ways.”_

_His brow knits, and he opens his eyes. They obey reluctantly, and only after a few moments of cajoling; he blearily focuses on the pair of raven-bright, violet eyes above him. A faint memory nudges him, gone almost before he knows it is there, and he stares at the woman in confusion for a moment._

_“Am I dead?” he finally manages, and she cocks her head, a friendly smile gathering on her lips._

_“Would you like to be?”_

_He blinks, and her smile widens a little further. “You should feel flattered,” she continues. “It’s not often we allow the choice, but we thought in your case we’d make an exception.”_

_Recollection comes, sudden and vivid. “No,” he answers, struggling to push himself upward. “No, I can’t- I have to-”_

_A foot descends on his shoulder, pinning him firmly to the ground. “I wouldn’t,” a different voice says gently as he freezes under the weight. “She’s doing her best to keep you from pouring every last drop of that royal blood of yours all over the Guardian’s post; it would be a shame to ruin her hard work if you’re planning to stay after all.”_

_“Stay,” he says, word and memory sharp in his ears. He looks up at the unfamiliar ceiling; it is not the bright blue of a Scottish sky, nor is it the ornate carvings of the old Observatory. It is smooth, pale stone, lit by warm torchlight. The tug of thought returns, stronger this time. “Where am I?”_

_“Oh, here and there,” a third voice chimes in, “and I do mean that literally. A little confusing to the general masses, of course, but you of all people should understand.” There is the soft scrape of a chair against ground, and Loki carefully looks toward the sound, barely moving his head._

_“Better,” says the dark-haired woman as she thumps a stool down next to his head and sits gracefully. “Always said you were a fast learner.” He hears the others take similar positions, but his eyes are drawn to the woman’s skirts. He can see patterns swirling, flickers of movement within the night-blue fabric. The sight makes his eyes ache, and so he turns his head again, looking up at the ceiling as it finally dawns on him where he is._

_“Norns,” he breathes, unsure if it’s a statement or a curse, and the second woman laughs merrily._

_“Got it in one, as they say,” she confirms, brushing white hair from her face as she leans into his line of sight. “So what will it be, son of lies? We haven’t got all day.”_

_“We do, though,” another corrects from somewhere above his shoulder. He cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of blond hair. “You do, too, Friggason, so long as you’re here. I just hate to keep her waiting, especially at a time like this. It seems… unkind.”_

_“She’s not really_ waiting _,” the first says with a dismissive wave as she peers at Loki. “She’ll never even notice if nobody points it out to her. She’d have no idea what to look for, what with those so-recently-human eyes of hers. You’re just a hopeless romantic.”_

_A light scoff in return. “One of us has to be.”_

_“You?” the pale Norn asks with a laugh. “Since when?”_

_“Time is a construct for mortals,” comes the blond’s airy reply, “and therefore I’m sure I have_ no _idea what you mean.”_

 _The dark-haired Norn -_ Skuld _, Loki’s mind helpfully suggests - vigorously clears her throat; the other two fall silent as she comes into his line of sight again. Memory plucks harder, and he wonders why the image is so familiar. She cuts across his thoughts, bringing her hands up from her lap. Cupped in her palms is what appears to be a mass of silken cord, and it takes him a moment to realize that he is staring at his own life. Color flows and ebbs, and the thread catches the torchlight as the Norn leans closer. He begins to see smaller details, places where the cord appears to have unraveled and been woven together again. She follows his gaze, then lifts her eyes to his with a faint, troubling smile on her face._

_“It’s not often that we repair skeins,” she says conversationally, “and certainly not as many times as we’ve had to fix yours.”_

_“I’m… honored?” he manages, doing his best to keep his voice neutral; he is failing, from the look on her face, but she seems content to overlook his tone._

_A gentle chuckle comes from above his head, and he twists ever so slightly to see the blond, her green eyes bright with laughter. “Ah, the arrogance of youth,” she says with a knowing smile. “You think this is all about you?”_

_He looks curiously back at the tangled skein, suddenly unwilling to bandy many words with these women. “Then-”_

_“Pride,” Skuld says without apology, “and perhaps a bit of selfishness on our part.” She strokes her fingers softly along the worst of the knots, and an odd but familiar feeling creeps up Loki’s spine as she does so. She fixes him with a narrow glare, but he can tell that her ire is not aimed at him. “We’re terribly possessive, after all, and what’s ours is ours. You’re a creature of the Realms; exactly_ which _Realm may be a matter of debate, but that means that your life belongs to us. No one else, and_ _certainly_ not _to the lackey of some upstart tyrant in the Void. Your life ends when_ we _say it does. The wheres and hows aren’t as important; after all, nothing is certain. The runes are carved in wood, not stone. You may have a part to play, but that doesn’t mean you’re the only one who can play it.”_

_“It was you, then. All those times I came back. It wasn’t his doing at all.”_

_“No,” comes Verdani’s reply. “Not every time. His skill was extensive, and he knew more about the line between life and death than any being with his disposition should.” A shadow passes across her face, replaced almost instantly by a serene look that doesn’t cover as much as she seems to think it does. “He sought to usurp our power, whether he knew it or not, and we’re glad to be rid of him. As our thanks, among other reasons, we now offer you a choice.”_

_“Life or death,” he says._

_“Nothing so simple,” replies Skuld. Her voice takes on a heavier tone as she carefully deposits the skein of yarn in her lap._

_“Denied death by Odin when he snatched you from Laufey’s altar,” she begins. “Denied death again when you were pulled from the Void. Stripped of everything you were over and over, without even a say in what you became next. Saved from oblivion by Midgard’s servants, working for hours on end to reform you from the bits and pieces left by the Other. Emptied by the All-Father as penance for a crime in which he was complicit.” She ticks the next words off on her fingers, one by one._

_“Sacrifice. War prize. Pawn. Son. Prince. Murderer. Plaything. Prisoner. Outcast. What will it be this time, child of nobody-in-particular? Judge? Jury? Executioner? A bit of all three?” Her face takes on a canny look. “Or will it be nothing at all? Do you end here and now? There’s no shame in the choice, boy, and you’ve certainly earned it.” She curls her fingers through the pile of thread. “A single moment. Won’t hurt a bit, which should be_ quite _the refreshing change for you.”_

_“Aeslin.”_

_“Is that what it calls itself these days? I’d wondered.” Urd’s voice is thoughtful, and Loki glances over in confusion. He turns back to Skuld for an explanation, barely catching the stern look she shoots at her sister before her face smooths once more. She shifts forward on her low stool._

_“She would no longer be your concern,” the eldest of the Norns says, blithely ignoring Urd’s interjection._

_“Would she forget me?” he asks. “Could she? As though I’d never been? You could do that. Take the memories from her. Save her from more-”_

_“She,” repeats Skuld firmly, “would no longer be your concern.”_

She will _, comes an unbidden thought._ She will remember; she remembers everything. A blessing, you told her once. A curse, she screamed back at you as she scrubbed blood from hands clean for months.

She will remember, _the whisper continues,_ and she will hate you. Just as she hates him.

 _“No,” he says, heart twisting at the very thought. “_ No _. Weave it back. Tie a knot if you have to; I don’t care. I will not leave her alone.”_

_A soft noise from Verdani; it sounds almost like pity. “Won’t you.”_

_“You have your answer,” he tells them sharply. “Send me back.”_

_“As?”_

_He is briefly caught by the question; he stares at Skuld for a second before he remembers her words._

Judge. Jury. Executioner.

_“Loki,” he says. “Just Loki. That will be enough.”_

_A faint smile crosses her face. “If you say so.” She nods to the others; they lean over him together, and that same flash of memory comes again, stronger this time. A heat begins in his veins as Verdani lifts her fingers above the mass of tangles cradled in the others’ hands, gathering magic he wishes he could see. His body begins to ache, pain shooting through every nerve of his body._

_“Thank you,” he manages through gritted teeth as fire flows through him. “I will remember this.”_

_A smile from Urd. “Actually,” she says kindly, “you won’t. And believe me, son of Frigga. You’ll be glad of that.”_

_***_

Aeslin clung to Loki’s body as the Bifrost carried them both through the Void. She knew Heimdall would not allow them to fall from within the Bridge’s confines. She hoped. She prayed, as best she could. The last two years notwithstanding, Loki and the Guardian’s last meeting had not gone well, and Heimdall, at least in all the sagas she had read, had a very, _very_ long memory. She closed her eyes against the brilliant light, letting the universe flow past unseen.

There was no sound, no rush of wind, and every second felt like an eternity. She knew nothing but the agony in her head. The breath in her lungs. The rise and fall of her chest against Loki’s; she was keenly aware that there was no answering movement from him. There hadn’t been since the Bifrost had dropped onto the ravaged beach, scooping the two of them up like jacks. She thought she had seen Thor as well, in the last second, but there was no way to be sure.

Aeslin hadn’t meant for Thor to call the Bridge. The ways were closed to Loki; they had stayed up long into more than one Malibu night arguing about it. He had been given no guidance from the All-Father other than the promise that he would not be allowed to set foot on any other realm. Loki knew his adoptive father well enough to know that the edict would probably be enforced on pain of death; she had countered that if Odin hadn’t killed Loki outright, there might be another way for him to go home. The arguments had been half-hearted at best; multiple attempts on their road trip across the states had proven to Loki and Aeslin both that he had no access to magic, whether his own or sensing any other kind.

 _Pain of death._ She held Loki a little tighter, preparing herself for the moment the Bridge would drop both of them directly at Odin’s feet. There was no doubt in her mind that the All-Father would be waiting for them; it was madness to believe that he would have allowed Loki into the Bifrost otherwise. He had to know. She wondered how long she could stand against Odin; she only hoped it would be long enough for Thor to get Loki back through the Bifrost, and to the relative safety of Midgard. London. Iona. It almost wouldn’t matter. The giants could be dealt with; the others would see to that, and Bruce or even Tony would know what to do. They would know how to save Loki. They had to. It wasn’t too late. It couldn’t be.

She couldn’t allow herself to believe that Loki might already be dead.

There was a sudden, painless jolt as they crossed the threshold into the Observatory, skidding gently to a stop on the polished floor. Still wrapped around Loki, Aeslin opened her eyes slowly, allowing them to adjust to the relative dimness of the large room.

No Odin. No Frigga. No one but the Guardian, standing serenely at his post as though these sorts of things happened all the time. He looked down at her briefly, golden eyes meeting silver, and allowed the faintest of smiles to cross his face before looking at someone beyond her. Aeslin followed his gaze automatically as she once more pressed the bloody mess of her wedding gown into the gash in Loki’s chest, body tensing against what would surely be coming.

A strangled, hopeless cry wormed its way from her throat when she saw Thor. He stood in the light reflecting throughout the room, covered in blood and with a body cradled in his arms. Parker was still and pale, save for a series of what looked like bleeding scorch marks along his neck and jaw. His glasses were gone; without them, he looked terribly young, and in that second, Aeslin understood what had distracted Loki. She couldn’t force any words past her lips; a faint keening was all she could muster as every bit of strength that remained inside began to crumble to dust.

The Guardian’s voice was kind and soothing, a counterpoint to the chaos they had left behind and to the numb shock crawling through Aeslin’s body.

“You’ll want to move aside, Odinson,” Heimdall said as lightning began to flicker along the edges of the Observatory’s walls and windows. The glow of stars behind Thor grew stronger, almost blinding as he moved purposefully forward, keeping his footsteps as smooth as he could. Aeslin was struck by his gentleness, until she realized from the ease with which Thor moved that this was not the first time he had carried a body from a battlefield. Her eyes went back to Loki, white and unmoving in the brilliant glare from the portal, and she bit her lip against the thought.

In the corner of her vision, she saw Heimdall release the hilt of the massive sword and step from his dais. The light died, leaving Aeslin blinking against the sudden darkness of the Observatory; there was a rush of cold and the sound of heavy boots on metal. Beneath her hands, she felt the faintest twitch of movement from Loki’s body, as if in response to the noise. She held her breath, hoping to feel something more, but he went still again. She looked back toward those emerging from the Bifrost.

Odin strode from the center of a pack of heavily armored soldiers, cloak swirling and face like a thundercloud.

“What is the meaning of this?” he barked, gaze flicking across Thor and Aeslin before settling on Heimdall. The Guardian stood firm; he had opened his mouth to speak when Odin was shoved roughly aside from behind. Frigga shrugged off furs and cloak, dropping them carelessly behind her as she came rapidly to where Aeslin knelt next to Loki. She smelled of ozone and cold as she reached forward to touch her son’s face, then his neck.

Aeslin searched Frigga’s face for any clue. “Is he-” she broke off immediately; the words seemed trite, useless, and the answer might be unbearable.

“Not yet,” the Queen answered, brows knit as she ghosted her hands along Loki’s body. Faint magic seemed to follow her fingers. She pursed her lips as the golden light hovered above fabric and skin; it shimmered and twisted, but stayed where it was, and Frigga let out a frustrated sigh. “Damn them. We need to get him to the palace; there is little even I can do here.” She looked up at her older son. “Who’s that?”

“Parker,” Thor said, voice uneven. “A mortal, and a friend. I think he tried to aid Loki; he is gravely injured.”

“Bring him, too,” Frigga replied brusquely. She glanced over at those still gathered at the edges of the Observatory; their attention seemed split between Frigga and her sons. A few watched the All-Father, faces guarded. “Litters,” the Queen said, catching the attention of those nearest. “Two of them.” When none responded, she raised her voice. “ _Move_.”

Thor shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other; Frigga noticed and gave him what might have been a reassuring smile. “He will be fine, my son. They will live, provided I get _litters for both of them_.” Those wrapping cloaks around shields jumped as though shocked, working faster than Aeslin thought possible.

“It’s not only that, Mother,” Thor explained, shaking his head. “The Jotun were still there when I left. The battle still raged, and my friends…” he trailed off, and she nodded in understanding. A pair of soldiers stepped forward, gently taking Parker from his arms and lowering him carefully onto one of the repurposed shields.

“Your friends live,” said the Guardian. Aeslin and Thor both looked up; Heimdall had been deep in conversation with the All-Father. His back was to them, but his voice was strong and sure. “All survive to fight another day.”

Thor’s shoulders sagged in gratitude as one of the soldiers helped Aeslin pry her fingers from Loki’s shirt; she was completely unable to move them herself, and the young man’s face held a bit of pity as her hand came free, knuckles still curled and aching. The makeshift bandage had to remain on Loki’s chest; Aeslin had no idea if it was the only thing keeping him alive, and she wasn’t about to find out. The soldier pulled a sharp knife from his boot, sawing through the fabric of her wedding gown and carefully tucking the edges of the scraps under Loki’s ribs to keep them in place without disturbing him. Within seconds, two more of Frigga’s guard had come forward, lifting the litter bearing their prince in one smooth motion. They set off rapidly across the glittering span toward the palace.

As Parker’s litter went past, Frigga fell into step beside it; her hands moved in the same pattern as they had over Loki’s body. The faint golden light swirled above the young man, reflecting against a face cold as marble before being drawn in like a breath. A nod to herself, and then she moved quickly forward to her son’s bier.

Thor came to stand next to Aeslin, bending to pull her to her feet. She swayed a little, head still aching, and he swept her hair behind her shoulder in order to look at the blood drying thickly on her neck. She shook her head roughly, without thinking, and winced at the spike of pain that went through her temples. Thor seemed to understand; he took her hand in his, and they followed the small procession that was already crossing the bay toward the palace.

***

The skiffs began to appear sometime later; Aeslin wasn’t quite sure when, or how long they’d been walking. Her vision had narrowed to the spot on Loki’s bier where her hand rested on his chest and to the place on the bridge where her foot would land next. Everything else seemed distant, from Thor’s hand in hers to the sensation of eyes boring into her back as she limped along. She was dimly aware that she was probably leaving bloody footprints; with luck, they would be barely visible against the glimmers of magic below the surface. This was no time to show weakness. Aeslin had seen the All-Father’s face as he had stormed toward the Guardian. She had seen the face of Thor’s warrior friend - _Sif_ , she remembered vaguely, and she wondered if that’s who was staring holes into her spine. She almost didn’t care. Aeslin focused on one step, then another.

There had been no movement from Loki since that initial twitch when the Bifrost had deposited Odin’s retinue into the Observatory. Aeslin was afraid to move her fingers, afraid that she might miss something else; Frigga’s magic still hovered over him like a faint, golden shroud. When one skiff pulled up to the edge of the bridge, the All-Mother motioned for those bearing Parker’s body to board it; with a glance of surprise, they obeyed. His litter was rapidly secured to the floor, and the healers already on the skimmer went to work immediately as the ship pivoted smoothly and headed toward the palace.

The second craft that approached held only three; a tall, stern woman was accompanied by a man whose white hair stood in sharp contrast to his dark brown skin. Another man stood at the controls, and Aeslin stared at him for a second before realizing that she knew him. Fandral.

The warrior bowed slightly as he kept the boat rock-still, not an easy feat in the wind coming off the bay. He then nodded to Thor.

“Feels like a storm coming,” Fandral observed, his voice clear even against the rising sound of the choppy waves below.

“Only if he dies,” came Thor’s curt reply, his hand still wrapped almost painfully around Aeslin’s as he tugged her into the boat after him. Without another word, Fandral guided the skiff around, following the first craft without a backward glance.

Aeslin found herself grateful for Thor’s death grip on her fingers; it kept her from moving forward, from getting in the way of those working on Loki, as she knew she would have if she had tried to help. _Only a physician's assistant_ , she thought, the words accusing in her ears. _Never a real doctor. You can’t help him now; maybe you never could._ She clenched her free hand, focusing on the pain that blossomed from her palm and pounded in time with the heartbeat in her temples.

It happened without warning. As they moved quickly from the skiff to the balcony that served as an entrance to the healer’s wing, Loki’s body jolted as though struck. A gasp; the shroud holding him vanished in a single breath as he arched upward from the makeshift stretcher, screaming in agony.

The soldier holding the head of his litter stumbled in shock and lost his grip on the shield. The man from the skiff reached out and steadied the bier quickly. Loki continued to thrash, shouting things that might have been words as fresh blood trickled from beneath the bandage. Frigga quickened her steps.

“A forge,” she said, doing her best to be heard over her son’s cries. “Get him on a forge.”

Aeslin looked around the room, not understanding what the Queen meant. The man who had caught the litter nodded to the soldier at the other end; in a smooth, practiced movement, they lowered the shields to the floor and lifted a still-struggling Loki as gently as they could. Loki’s words were more intelligible now, almost familiar, and Aeslin tried to make sense of them. The two men made their way to a table that illuminated as they approached, and Aeslin went cold.

_Table._

“ _Shit_ ,” she breathed as she desperately tried to yank her hand loose from Thor’s, and then all hell broke loose.

The second Loki’s back touched the glowing surface, he twisted, fighting to free himself from the two that held him. Still not fully conscious, he clawed and kicked; more blood flowed. Frigga’s lips were tight as she called magic to her fingers.

“Hold him down,” Aeslin heard her say, and at last her hand was finally free of Thor’s. She lunged forward.

“No,” she shouted. “ _Don’t-_ ”

To their credit, the two men holding him managed to pin one wrist before Loki lashed out like a viper; the female healer reeled back with a hand pressed to her face, and Frigga staggered a step away, knuckles to her lips. A second later, the soldier crumpled, cradling one wrist as he dropped to his knees. Cursing under her breath, Aeslin slipped through the chaos, ducking beneath the taller man’s arm as she sprinted to the side of the table.

It was almost too easy to dodge Loki’s attack as he sensed her approaching; he was rapidly losing blood and strength, and he had neither to spare. She caught one wrist harder than she meant to, then slid her hand along his to tangle their fingers together; she felt him still for the briefest of moments.

“Polo,” she said in answer to his whisper, smoothing hair soaked in sweat and blood from his forehead. He began to calm, and Aeslin met Frigga’s eyes. The queen stepped forward as Aeslin rested her head next to Loki’s on the cool surface of the forge. “Polo, polo, polo,” she repeated as he tightened his fingers in hers, the edge of his ring cutting into her knuckle. “Please, love,” she begged, too quietly for those around them to hear. “Let them save you.”

Another whisper; a single word before he slipped back into unconsciousness, and she pressed her lips to his temple.

“I will,” she said. “I promise.”

The magic began to take hold, sweeping gently over Loki like fog on water and sending him deeper into oblivion. The healer joined Frigga, lip already swelling as she began to study the images that flickered into life above the forge. Frigga let out a small breath as she looked at Aeslin; the Queen’s face was stern and a little icy.

“Kindlesdaughter,” she said slowly, but in a tone that brooked no argument, “what did they do to my son?”

Aeslin met her gaze, exhaustion and defiance mingling on her face as she wiped blood from the corner of Loki’s mouth with the edge of her thumb.

“Perhaps,” she answered, just as deliberately, “you should have asked him that two years ago.”

***

 _It is hours before Loki or Parker can be moved; once it is determined that they are out of the worst danger and that the forges can do no more for them, they are taken further into the healers’ wing. Thor does not miss the fact that they are secreted in one of the innermost rooms, nor can he ignore the wards that have been placed along the windows and doors. The magic will not keep anyone from entering the rooms. It is meant to keep those inside from leaving. His brother, his friend, his almost-sister, trapped as though there is anywhere for them to go. Anywhere they_ could _go._

_Parker will not be able to walk for days, perhaps weeks, if the healers are to be believed. They have done their best, but Midgardians are fragile, too easily broken. The boy sleeps, heavily sedated with draughts and a little magic. He is lucky, perhaps. Loki has yet to regain consciousness._

_Frigga and Eir are hopeful, as always, but the healer is confused. Thor can tell. He heard her whispers to Frigga, questions nearly muffled by the forges. Odin’s glamour remains; Loki looks as he ever did, but he is not the same as he once was, and Eir cannot mend what she does not understand. Much of the repair work was done by the All-Mother, but watching his brother, Thor is not sure that it was enough. Loki is wracked by fevers that will not respond to any remedy they have tried so far. The magic binding him keeps him from thrashing too hard, from reopening the hideous wound in his chest, but he twitches and mutters like one possessed._

_Aeslin sits between the two beds, watching over Parker and Loki both as best she can; Thor hovers at the edge of the room, unsure of what to do. His magic lies in storms, in destruction, in healing rains and fertile lands, and there is nothing he has done that has helped. He worries a thumbnail as he paces, racking his brains for something they have not yet tried._

_Soft sounds come from behind him, and he looks around to see Sif, Volstagg and Fandral approaching. The dwarf seems wary but curious; Sif’s face is a carefully schooled mask. Fandral follows behind them a step or two, seemingly lost in thought._

_“The All-Father requires your presence,” the warrior woman says without preamble._

_It was inevitable, Thor knew, but he had hoped to have a little while longer. Anger flares in his gut, surprising him with its heat, and he speaks almost without thinking._

_“My brother is near death,” he says coolly, marveling at his own self-control. “I cannot leave him.”_

_“Near death is a damn sight better than death,” Volstagg replies with forced joviality. “I mean, since most of us thought him dead already, I’d say he’s on the upswing, wouldn’t you?”_

_Thor levels a steely blue gaze at the dwarf, who refuses to back down. Sif speaks again. “It was not a request,” she says with equal chill in her voice, “and I am no messenger girl.”_

_“I cannot leave him,” Thor repeats, hating the desperation he hears clawing at the edges of his voice. “Someone must stay. He… they must be kept safe.” He feels himself babbling; he knows that there is no possible way for him to keep Loki safe. Thor is son of the All-Father, crown prince of Asgard. Kindlesdaughter carries enough power for both of them, but she is drained, broken, and even together, they were not enough to protect either Loki or Parker on Midgard. Nothing is enough, but he cannot leave. He cannot leave his friends, his family alone._

_Sudden hope seizes him, and he looks at his friends. “Will you watch for me? Just until I return from my audience?”_

_“No.”_

_Thor looks at Sif, surprised at her tone, but she meets his eyes, unrepentant. “I am no messenger, and I am no nursemaid,” she continues. “Not to you. Not to your traitor brother, and not to his pets. Find someone else.”_

_A look at Volstagg, who wears the same expression as the shieldmaiden. Words spring unbidden to Thor’s lips, words that he knows he will regret if he speaks them, and they are almost free when Fandral steps forward._

_“I’ll do it.”_

_The other two stare at him as though he has grown a second head, but Fandral squares his shoulders slightly and ignores them. He nods to Thor. “Go, Odinson. Your father calls, and you must answer. I will stand watch; have no worry.”_

_Swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat, Thor rests a hand on his friend’s shoulder._

_“My thanks,” he says, voice rough._

_“_ Go _, Thor,” comes the airy reply as Fandral casually saunters to a chair that has a clear view of both Loki and the door. “All will be well.”_

_A lie, maybe, and they both know it, but Thor nods as he gives a final look to his brother, then steps quietly through the wards and toward the throne room._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I may be numberless, I may be innocent  
>  I may know many things, I may be ignorant  
> Or I could ride with kings and conquer many lands  
> Or win this world at cards and let it slip my hands_
> 
> _I could be cannon food, destroyed a thousand times  
>  Reborn as fortune's child to judge another's crimes  
> Or wear this pilgrim's cloak, or be a common thief  
> I've kept this single faith  
> I have but one belief_
> 
> _I still love you_
> 
>  
> 
> thank you for sticking around. i hope the wait was worth it. feedback appreciated, as always. love you all!


	17. Chapter 17

Only muscle memory kept Blodgada from stumbling as the raiding party entered the courtyard. They had traveled for almost two days straight without rest, only stopping when necessity forced them to. Already worn from long days of negotiation and watching rifts, the battle with Odin’s golden son and grief had drained her almost beyond comprehension. Blodgada had barely been able to keep up, but Helblindi’s wound was worse than it had initially appeared to be. The Midgardian’s aim had been better than even he realized; of that Blodgada was almost certain, and Helblindi was not the only one who had been hurt in the battle. The mages had done what they could, but they had pushed the party nearly beyond their limits in order to get the injured to the palace healers before any permanent damage was done.

As they neared the gate, Helblindi pushed himself up on his litter, arms shaking from the strain. “I will not be carried into my own palace like an infant,” he growled. “Put me down.” The guards hesitated, and Helblindi’s lip raised in half a snarl. “I will not ask again.”

A nod from the captain, too small for Helblindi to notice, and those bearing the litter lowered it carefully to the ground. It came to rest with a thump; the lead guard grimaced, and Blodgada winced in answer. Helblindi had lost a lot of blood before they’d been able to see to the gash below his ribs in the strange cavern on Midgard. He had no business being upright, and he knew it. The guards knew it just as well, but they would not disobey a direct order from their prince.

 _Their king_.

She tried to ignore the way her heart wrenched at the thought, unwilling for the moment to dwell further on the implications. Helblindi was king. That was fact. That was reality, and she was Blood Lieutenant to the king, whoever that might be, until he chose another. Blodgada strode to Helblindi’s side, ready to give him an arm in support, knowing that a staggering king would be little better than a bedridden one. He shook his head angrily, refusing her aid, but she kept close behind him as he walked slowly through the courtyard gate.

The courtyard was deserted. A jumble of crates and pallets bearing the mark of Asgard leaned haphazardly against one wall. Lonely sacks rested here and there on the worn stone of the courtyard as though dropped in haste. The raiding party stared in silence for a moment.

“Where are they?” Helblindi said almost to himself as he took in the scene. Before Blodgada could offer an answer, his eyes narrowed. “Where are you, Father of Lies?!” he roared, startling a small flock of birds that had gathered hopefully near an abandoned bag of grain.  “Show your face, coward! Stand before me, Father of Traitors, and tell me how you did not know your son _lived_!” Blood flecked his lips as he shouted, but he ignored Blodgada’s outstretched hand as he limped forward. His scream echoed off the walls. “Odin!”

Blodgada heard the palace doors bang open, but she did not bother to turn. It wasn’t the Asgardians; she knew that long before she heard frantic Jotun voices. Her eyes were drawn to Helblindi’s boots, and to the familiar pattern beneath them.

“They’re gone,” she murmured, her eyes locked on the overlapping whorls cut into the stone. One pattern carved when Blodgada and Frigga had arrived. Another when Odin had appeared. Now a third pattern lay on the courtyard ground, unevenly connecting the first two.

Her hands began to shake, but there was no fear in her. It was rage, clear and cold as night. They _had_ known; their retreat proved it. They had lied to Byleistr’s face, and when confronted with the possibility of answering for their deception, they had willfully disregarded the king’s instructions by bringing the Bifrost into the heart of the city. Byleistr had only ever treated them with courtesy and honor, and this was their answer. She gritted her teeth, the air around her hands cooling noticeably.

She felt timid fingers on her arm and whirled; the young healer cowered back from the anger in her face. “Are you injured?” the healer stammered, fumbling for the pouch at her belt. “Sorry. I’m sorry, only I thought I saw a tremor. She said to watch for anything out of the ordinary, and you didn’t seem… Are you injured, my lady? Dizzy at all? Perhaps you should sit for a moment.”

Blodgada clenched her hands, stilling the motion and forcing herself to calm. “Bruises only,” she said with some effort. “Your attention should be on Pr… the king.” She looked past the neophyte to see several figures surrounding Helblindi. Kolga, head of the infirmary, seemed to be inspecting him while healers and students frantically flitted around her like sprites. She was trying to assess his wound, prodding and dodging in turn while Helblindi paced, cursed and continued to call out to Odin. The exasperation in Kolga’s face was plain, and Blodgada felt a sudden pity for her.

“They’re not here,” she said. He gave no sign that he noticed, and so she repeated it, calling in a tone that could cut through the haze and confusion of a battlefield.

“They’re not _here_ , Helblindi,” Blodgada shouted. “They’ve gone.”

Helblindi spun, eyes glittering with hatred but unfocused; a second passed before his fury broke and he recognized her. His strength seemed to drain out instantly as he at last understood what she’d said, and he sagged. Kolga reached out an arm in a gesture honed over the years, slowing his fall and allowing the guards to lower him back onto his litter. The healer bent over him, finally able to examine his wound without interruption; she was clearly troubled by what she saw. A sharp gesture to the litter’s bearers, and they lifted the king in a single, smooth movement. Blodgada watched with a strange sense of detachment as they followed the healer rapidly into the palace.

Two figures stood by the door, keeping well clear of the proceedings; Blodgada wondered for a moment why they weren’t aiding the healers or joining the guards that milled around the courtyard in a sort of organized confusion. One figure was stocky and stolid, a point of calm in the chaos; the other shifted incessantly from one foot to the other, lithe and restless as a caged animal. Her mind caught up with her eyes after a long moment, coherent thought forcing its way forward through exhaustion, and at last she recognized them. Drofn and Vornir. She thought about waving to them, nodding, or at least acknowledging them in some way, but her body refused to obey. She remained frozen in place, half afraid that if she moved at all, she would collapse.

Once Helblindi’s bier had vanished into the tall stone edifice, nearly concealed by a cloud of panicked healers, Drofn pushed the heavy door closed out of long habit. Open doors meant cold nights, which meant more fuel used, and no one knew that better than the Quartermistress. The sound of the soft, familiar scrape of the door against the raised threshold had barely faded before Vornir was rushing toward Blodgada.

“Are you all right? I thought you were all right, but that idiot made it so hard to see what was happening with you. I knew Helblindi wasn’t, so I told the healers to be ready, but Drofn said it wasn’t a good idea to go out and meet you in case those Asgardian bastards were watching us because they might have figured out that we were watching and we couldn’t let them know about the rift network so we did what we could and please tell me you’re all right so at least somebody came out unscathed and gods be _low_ , _please_ be all right.” He reached forward, stopping himself just as she raised a calming hand.

“I’m undamaged,” she said, deliberately ignoring the chunk of her soul she’d left on that Hel-forsaken Midgardian beach. “Helblindi is the worst of the injured; the others should live. Byleistr…” The name caught in her throat, and she had drawn breath to start again when Drofn interrupted.

“We know what happened,” she said gently as she took Blodgada by the arm and began to walk toward the palace. The Quartermistress was limping worse than she normally did. Blodgada thought that the cold must be aggravating her old injury; a moment passed before she realized that Drofn was exaggerating her limp so those watching would believe she was leaning on the warrior, and not the other way around. A small kindness that threatened to crack Blodgada’s calm, and she swallowed hard as Drofn picked up the conversation as though nothing had happened. Her voice was soothing and matter-of-fact.

“Your riftwatcher told me. I think the only reason he came to me was because he knew I was privy to the king’s plan, and he was desperate for someone to give him direction.” Vornir swept the door open with a bit of shame on his face, and the Quartermistress patted his cheek as she walked by. The apprentice sighed as she did so, then fell into step next to her. Drofn lowered her voice while releasing Blodgada’s elbow, aware of how sound carried in the palace corridors.

“I haven’t told anyone. I don’t know who I would have spoken to, honestly; once the Bifrost came, we were more concerned with calming the panic. We did the best we could, Vornir and I, but he’s not well known, and I am but a Quartermistress. I help people get supplies, not peace of mind. There was no time to say anything of Byleistr’s fate, nor was it my place to do so.”

Blodgada nodded. By tradition, it was the Lieutenant’s place to inform the heir and the general populace of their king’s passing. Helblindi already knew, and anyone who talked to him for any length of time in his current mood would be sure to hear about Byleistr, but the rest of the Jotun would need to be told.

“I wasn’t sure what else to do,” Vornir said, picking up the tale with an apologetic look at the older woman. “I saw what happened to Byleistr. I panicked a little - a _lot_ \- and ran to find Drofn. I wasn’t quite there when it all went to Hel. I didn’t know what was going on, but with the Bifrost coming so soon after Byleistr…” he winced. “I was almost sure we were in for it.” He rubbed at his matriarchal lines as they stopped near the infirmary’s doors.  “What now? What do we do?”

Blodgada rested her hands on Vornir’s shoulders. “Our duties, Vornir. Once Helblindi’s on his feet again, maybe even before then, he’ll decide Jotunheim’s course of action. That is his duty as king. In the meantime, we see to our own.” She gestured back toward the courtyard and the supplies that still lay in heaps, then nodded at the other woman. “Drofn is Quartermistress. Her duty is organizing and distributing supplies to those who need them most, and that’s what she’ll do.”

“So you want me to go back to the rift station? And do what? _Watch_?” At her raised eyebrow, Vornir quieted fractionally. “I watched you fight Odin’s son. I watched Byleistr kill the Traitor, and then I watched him die in turn. There’s nothing left for me _to_ watch. It’s over.”

“Not over,” she argued, “and it won’t be just you anymore. We’ve got no way to keep this quiet, nor should we, so I want _every_ watcher back at their posts. You and I will draw up new tasks; we’ll need to watch Asgard for state meetings, military movements, or anything else out of the ordinary. We’ll assign a few to watch the other realms in case this spreads beyond Jotunheim, especially Midgard. We attacked on their soil, but we have no idea if they’re going to retaliate against such a small incursion. Keep an eye on the Traitor’s companions - _former_ companions - if you can find them. Should anything come from this, chances are it will start with them. Watch for the same things, though. Any groups meeting together, any marshalling of troops, because I warn you now. As soon as he can gather his council, Helblindi will more than likely declare war.” Vornir blanched, but she pushed on. “His duty, not ours, but in war we live or die on intelligence.” She shook his shoulders a little. “And _that_ , my fine apprentice, _is_ your duty.”

Vornir set his jaw, then straightened a little and nodded. “And you?” he asked.

Blodgada’s exhaustion came rushing back, striking her almost like a physical blow. She released Vornir’s arms. “My duty,” she said, “is to tell the people that our king is dead.”

****

The breeze shifted; heat and smoke from the massive bonfire washed across Blodgada’s face. She gritted her teeth against the sensation. Jotun didn’t cope well with heat under the best of conditions, and this was nowhere near ideal. She briefly considered moving, but there was really nowhere for her to go. The small plateau had been scoured bare by fire over the centuries, and the current conflagration took up most of the available space. The four Jotun stood shoulder to shoulder, as close to the flames as they could bear. The rest of the Jotun were gathered on the plain below, faces raised in silent respect as their king was laid to rest. There was never much to see from down there; Blodgada remembered from the funeral of Laufey’s predecessor. Her grandfather had raised her on his shoulders to give her a clearer view, but she had been able to see little more than blurred, wavy figures outlined in flame.

It would be even more difficult now, she realized. Smoke drifted up from the fire, obscuring the light shining from an already dim sky; the irony was not lost on her. The bonfire’s purpose was to send the king into the heavens above, where he could join with others who had gone before. They sent light and warmth to Jotunheim, and it was thanks to them that crops grew and herds thrived. As a child, and even later, Blodgada had always taken comfort knowing that her grandfather, and later her parents, were still looking after her by making sure she had enough to eat, enough light to grow strong and tall.

That was before the Destruction, though, before the famine that followed, and now all she could see was the ever-present haze that clung to every surface on the realm. She felt like a hypocrite now, standing with the others to send Byleistr to a duty she could no longer believe in, but he had been her king.  A good king, perhaps even better than his father, and she could not show disrespect, at the end. He deserved more. Had deserved more, and she found herself mourning both the loss of her friend and the future he might have brought his people.

The bonfire itself was mostly for show, to comfort the people below and to keep with tradition. There was nothing left of him, not even a scrap of cloth to send him on his way. The Traitor’s witch had been thorough. It had happened before, though, and so the four of them stood on the hill, eyes blind from smoke and skin burning from heat, as they clutched their offerings.

Helblindi went first. He unsheathed his knife as he approached. Cupping the blade in his palm almost reverently, he drew the blade back in a swift motion. He held his hand as close to the fire as he could, and the hot blood hissed as it dropped into the flames. Blodgada could see his skin blistering in the heat, but Helblindi stayed firm. “Byleistr and I were the sons of Laufey, with the blood of countless kings in our veins. I offer that blood now.” He dropped his hand to his side, voice uncharacteristically quiet. “Byleistr was our king.”

As he stepped back, Rungnir, the head of his guard, took his place. He carried a tidy pile of armor, weakened by magic so the fire could consume it more easily. When he cast it into the flames, sparks spiraled into the sky. “Byleistr did everything he could to defend his people. To fight for them, with weapons or with words. It did not matter to him, in the end. The Destruction was more than any realm, much less a single king, should have to bear, but he protected us as best he could. Byleistr was our shield.” The metal warped, collapsing in on itself as the soldier backed away, eyes on the ground.

Drofn was next. She bore a too-small sack of grain, the largest she could spare; it burst open as it landed amid the flames. The smoke took on the scent of cooking porridge, and Blodgada could hardly breathe past the lump in her throat. “Byleistr worked tirelessly to aid all his people after the Destruction,” the Quartermistress said, and in her face Blodgada could see some of the same memories she bore, of a serious young man called to the throne far too soon. Drofn cleared her throat. “He oversaw the distribution of aid, reached out to every community to ask what help they required. None had to come to him; he found them all. Sought them out. Learned what they lacked, and in the end, he found us what we needed. Because of him, we will survive. Byleistr was our succour.”

She returned to her spot, blinking rapidly, and then it was Blodgada’s turn. Her own offering was clenched tightly in her palm; as she neared the fire, she opened her fingers and let it dangle free on its cord. Her grandfather’s charm spun gently in the heat, reflecting the reddish gold light of the flames on its smooth wooden surface. _Luck and good fortune_ , he had told her. A symbol that everything would be all right. “Byleistr was our hope,” she whispered, and let the necklace fall. The flames seemed to reach up to consume this final gift, and in a breath, it was gone.

She took her place among the others once more. Helblindi nodded, and as one, they lifted their hands high above their heads, palms facing the smoke that spiraled into the sky. Those below raised their hands as well, and in heavy silence, the Jotun bid farewell to their king.

Blodgada watched the smoke twining toward the heavens, and she felt something within her go with it. Her fingers stretched of their own accord, as though she were reaching for something - something she needed desperately, and something that was now forever beyond her grasp.

****

They had kept the funeral as short as decently possible, but even so, Helblindi was wavering by the time it was over. He lay now in the infirmary, with Kolga and Rungnir hovering over him like a pair of brooding seabirds. Blodgada was there as well, for no other reason but a vague feeling that she needed to be doing something useful. She rested in a chair, feet propped onto one of the low windowsills and drifting in and out of a light doze.

A final gentle probe at Helblindi’s slow-healing wound, and with a satisfied look, Kolga crossed the room toward a crate stamped on the side with three linked triangles. A bit of rummaging produced fresh bandages, gauze, and a jar of salve. Returning to Helblindi’s side, she opened the container. An invigorating scent filled the air, and Blodgada breathed in deeply in spite of herself. Helblindi did as well, immediately making a face.

“Keep filthy Asgardian slime away from me,” he growled, settling back against the pillows with his eyes closed. Kolga hesitated, her drive to heal warring with the need to obey her king.

“That Asgardian _slime_ is the best we have,” Blodgada chided. “The last of ours went to Hrithnir months ago.” _Which,_ she thought a little sourly, _you would have known if you’d ever bothered to read a report._

“I will not be beholden to Asgard,” he snarled back, fixing her with a baleful eye. “I will not be indebted to those lying bastards. How _kind_ they were to come to us. How generous. How willing to help us while lying to our faces and concealing the Traitor. I want nothing of them or their poison.”

 _Don’t you_. The thought came quietly, and Blodgada squashed it gently with a dismissive shrug to her king. “Suit yourself,” she told him, hands casually resting on her stomach as she lifted her face to the weak afternoon sun that streamed through the window. “I, for one, rather _like_ the idea of using what they gave us. Think about it. Should we face them again, we will be stronger. Fiercer. All because of the aid _they_ gave us. Even _you_ can appreciate the irony in that.”

Helblindi frowned for a moment, then gave Kolga a sharp nod. “Get on with it, then. _Quick_ ly.”

Kolga shot Blodgada a grateful look before bending to treat the wound. She had barely begun with the bandages when a sudden pounding came from the door. Blodgada glanced at Rungnir, then stood rapidly and went to answer it. She called a bit of ice to her fingers, ready to form a blade if required.

There was no need, as it turned out. Vornir stood in the doorway, face pale and short of breath. “Oh, thank the _gods_ ,” he gasped out on seeing Blodgada’s face. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. We have a…”

His last word was drowned out by a long, dramatic sigh Helblindi. “An audience. How _charm_ ing. I wasn’t aware I was seeing petitioners today. Have you come before your king to see him in his weakness?” He slapped away the bandage that Kolga was trying to press to his side. “Get out, all of you. I don’t need any of you here.”

Irritation flared in Blodgada, a counterpoint to Rungnir’s clear hesitation. The guard captain seemed torn between duty and obedience, much like the healer. Helblindi was the king, and Rungnir, like Kolga, was not accustomed to going against his king’s wishes. The king was still Helblindi, however, and Blodgada had been arguing with _him_ for centuries. No reason that today should be different.  

“Oh, stop it,” she snapped, earning raised brows from the others as she yanked Vornir into the room and shoved him toward her abandoned chair. She closed the door none-too-gently behind the apprentice and then turned on Helblindi. “You need us here, and you know it. Stop being childish for a moment and _think_. Whether you want to admit it or not, you’re little better than helpless right now. Between your knife - _your own knife_ , Helblindi, that Midgardian runt and the journey home, you’re _damned_ lucky to be still breathing. It’s Kolga’s job to make sure you _stay_ that way, and Rungnir’s here to keep you safe long enough for her to make a difference. Until you’re on your feet again, you will have a guard at all times. _At all times_ , my liege. I speak as your Lieutenant, and you are _well_ aware that I’m within my rights to make sure that happens any way I choose. Once you’re back in fighting shape, I _may_ reconsider, but that day isn’t today. We will not lose another king.”

The healer finished applying bandages and quietly excused herself. “You’re protecting me against Byleistr’s killer?” Helblindi snorted. “Please. As if _any_ sort of guard could have helped him.” Blodgada narrowed her eyes a little, knowing that he was right but refusing to back down. “The only way to escape something like that,” the king continued, “is to avoid it entirely, which we can’t do, because my _watchers_ can’t find her. My little spies have failed, and who _leads_ those spies, Lieutenant? _Who_ , exactly, is truly responsible for that failure?”

Her jaw clenched, but she refused to answer. The silence grew sharper, more dangerous.

“We didn’t fail,” came a voice. The quiet snapped in a second, and both Blodgada and Helblindi turned as Vornir cleared his throat and stood. “We didn’t fail you, and neither has your Lieutenant. We found the witch.”

“What?” shouted Helblindi, pushing himself upward; at the same moment, Blodgada spoke. “ _Where_?”

“Asgard,” Vornir replied, his eyes darting between them. “Odin’s palace. Most of the watchrifts we have in that area aren’t exactly stable, so we only get little glimpses every now and then. It’s definitely her, though; I confirmed it myself.” His voice grew a little more confident. “She’s under constant watch. We’ll know if she goes anywhere, but for now she’s alive and well on Asgard.”

“How is that news?” Helblindi asked. “The Bifrost took her away. The Bifrost goes to Asgard. Am I to be impressed?”

“Yes,” Blodgada answered shortly. “You should. Asgard is enormous, and the rifts we’ve found were long in coming. Besides that, there was no way for us to know that’s where she remained. The bridge leads to Asgard, but that means it also leads away. She could have been anywhere. Finding her is a huge boon; after all, we can’t afford to turn our backs on someone like that.”

“Someone like _what_ , though?” Vornir mused, brows knit. “I’ve never seen anything like it. She _can’t_ be Midgardian, not with powers like that. So what in the Hel _is_ she?”

“Dead,” Helblindi spat without missing a beat. “She’s dead. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

Blodgada frowned, tapping her lip thoughtfully. The witch hadn’t been the only one snatched away. “And the apprentice? Is he there as well?”

Helblindi looked between them in confusion. “The apprentice what?”

“The runt. The one who…” Blodgada gestured wordlessly to Helblindi’s wound; anger and understanding blossomed on the king’s face. He looked back to Vornir, clearly eager for an answer.

“He’s there, too,” came the reply. “He’s in pretty bad shape, but from what we can tell, he’s alive.”

“Good,” mused Helblindi. “That gives me the chance to do the job right this time.”

“They’re in prison?” Blodgada asked, a little hopefully. Perhaps the Asgardians would do the right thing after all. “It might be difficult to tell; it’s quite a nice prison. Easy to mistake for something else.”

Vornir shook his head. “Not prison. I remembered your descriptions of it; there are some similarities, but I honestly think it’s something else. An infirmary, maybe.”

“So odd,” Blodgada observed. “Why not just throw him back to Midgard when they realized they'd picked him up? If the witch is unhurt, why go through the trouble of keeping them? Odin’s not _that_ generous.”

“They’ll coddle him,” Helblindi argued, face bitter. “That’s what they do. Asgardian? Midgardian? No matter. Their gates are open to everyone, remember, especially those who’ve committed crimes against the Jotun!” He spat on the floor. “Besides, they had to find _someone_ new to love now that their precious son is dead; may as well be his pets.”

Vornir made a faintly strangled noise. “Umm,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck and looking everywhere but his king. “A _bout_ that.”

Helblindi pinched the bridge of his nose with a look of long-suffering. “About _what_.”

Blodgada could see the apprentice steeling himself, and when he spoke at last, the words came out in an almost unintelligible rush. “We also think the Traitor’s still alive.”

One could have heard a snowflake’s fall in the silence. After a long moment, Helblindi spoke, his voice preternaturally calm. “What’s your name?”

“Vornir,” he answered, a little confused at the question. “Son of Vafthrudnir. My liege,” he added a little awkwardly and a second too late. He winced, but Helblindi seemed not to have noticed.

“Vornir Vafthrudnirson,” Helblindi said quietly, face intent, “you think, or you _know_?”

Vornir closed his eyes and clenched his fists. “Know.”

Blodgada felt as if the ground had dropped from beneath her. Byleistr was gone, killed in the attack, and the only comfort Blodgada had been able to find was that he had brought justice to the Jotun people. But if he hadn’t, if what Vornir said was true, his death was for nothing. Another wasted life.

Helblindi’s voice was still tightly controlled. “You are absolutely sure it wasn’t just his body?”

Vornir looked miserable. “I spent all morning trying to convince myself that it _was_ just his body, but I couldn’t. The apprentice is definitely alive. We’ve seen him move. This morning he was even sitting up, and it almost looked like he was talking. He’s near the Traitor, at least in the same room, and it makes no sense to put a dead body with a wounded man, even if you _are_ Asgardian. Nothing in our lore shows that as part of their funeral preparations. Besides, Frigga visits frequently, and she does the same things to both of them. Again. Why treat a body the same as a living man?”

“There’s more.” Helblindi tapped a fingernail on the thin blanket covering him. “You must have more.”

Another nod. “Last night, when she visited, she checked his bandages. We saw blood. All of us, and we agreed that’s clearly what it was. Dead men don’t bleed. He doesn’t move, not that we can see, but the witch is with him all the time. Makes me wonder if he’s _going_ to die, but with Frigga looking after him, the chances of that are slim to none, I’m afraid.”

A familiar shift in Helblindi’s carriage; he reached out and picked up the jar of salve Kolga had left on the table next to his bed, and Blodgada moved between her king and her apprentice without thinking.

The explosion of glass and salve against the wall was quite spectacular, but it paled in comparison to the stream of unrelenting and unrepeated obscenities Helblindi was screaming. Kolga came running but stopped just outside the doorway, face pale with concern.

Blodgada wanted to scream as well. She didn’t know where, or to whom. The stars, perhaps. The Void. Hel herself, if that’s what it took. Scream and scream until someone put Byleistr together once more. He had been their king. Calm, intelligent, duty-bound, kind, and honorable; the Jotun needed him now more than ever, and he had died for nothing.

“They knew he was alive then.” Helblindi was scrambling to free himself of the sheets in his rage, and Kolga and Rungnir were scrambling just as hard to keep him in place. “They know he’s alive now, and they _know_ full well that we have a right to his blood. But what do they do? Fluff his pillows. Bring him tidbits and delicacies. Give him all the aid that they _should_ have given us!” Helblindi abruptly stopped struggling. “Knowing he’s alive and giving him aid,” he murmured, then gave a shrewd look at Vornir. “Frigga is treating him personally?”

“Yes,” Vornir replied, looking at the floor.

“On Asgard.”

“Yes, my liege.”

He leaned back thoughtfully, and Kolga began reapplying his bandages with a little more force than necessary, clearly out of patience. He ignored her as he went on. “Tell me this, then, son of Vafthrudnir. Is Asgard knowingly and demonstrably giving aid to a formally declared enemy of Jotunheim?”  

Blodgada recognized the words. She knew what they meant just as well as Helblindi did. It was inevitable, really. It had been inevitable since the moment the Bifrost had come crashing down on the beach.

“Asgard is giving aid to all three of them.” Vornir raised his head and regarded Helblindi, curiosity deepening the ridges on his forehead. “I’ve told you that already.”

“I understand that,” Helblindi said as he waved Kolga away and readjusted his blood-splattered blanket. “We’ll get our vengeance on the witch and the runt, don’t you worry, but they’re of no consequence just now. They’ve not been formally declared. Answer my question. Is Asgard knowingly and demonstrably giving aid to a formally declared enemy of Jotunheim?” The wording was identical.

“Yes,” Vornir said hesitantly, glancing over at Blodgada.

“Don’t look at her,” Helblindi said, tone friendly and conversational. “Look at me. Yes, _what_.”

“Yes, Asgard is knowingly and demonstrably giving aid to a formally declared enemy of Jotunheim.” Vornir stumbled over the words, but Helblindi was grinning by the time he was finished.

“Lieutenant,” he said crisply, and Blodgada snapped to attention. “How long will it take to assemble the council?”

“Including travel time, nine to ten days,” she answered, the information coming into her mind with a speed akin to instinct. “Provided you intend to keep the same council.”

He nodded. “Do it. Surtr, as well.”

“Yes, my liege,” she replied, almost absurdly relieved to have something to do besides babysitting. “That will take more time; we don’t have a solid connection to him yet, but I’ll have a few of the observatory’s engineers begin work on some new relays.” She read Helblindi’s  hesitation; he was unfamiliar with what came next, but Blodgada was not. “I can have a general idea of troop strength by this time tomorrow, and with luck, a complete count in a few days. Drofn will be able to calculate supplies after that, but in the meantime, she’ll be more than willing to take inventory of the armories.”

As she spoke, Blodgada could almost feel layers of identity falling off. She no longer needed to be a negotiator. Her ladyship was irrelevant. Even the rift station was largely Vornir’s responsibility by this time, and she felt a strange sense of relief. At her core, Blodgada was a soldier, and returning to her true duties felt like coming home.

“Good,” he said, settling back. “Let me know when everything’s in order.”

“Of course.” She bowed briefly and spun on her heel, heading for the infirmary’s door. Vornir bowed rapidly, then bolted after her.

“I can give you the last known rift path to Surtr,” she told him as she strode through the corridors. “It was disrupted during the Destruction, but we’re close to reestablishing it. Get your best engineers on it; I’ll meet with them first thing tomorrow to hear their progress. I’ll also need one of the smaller messagerift chambers for the rest of the afternoon. No interruptions, and I’ll need someone to run messages as they come in. Someone discreet and trustworthy. I’ll bow to your judgment on that.”

Vornir was hurrying to keep up, giving one- or two-word responses to her orders, but as she finished, he moved ahead of her and put a hand on her arm. “Blodgada, _stop_. Just for a moment.” She did almost reluctantly, pulling herself away from the tasks tumbling through her brain. He studied her face. “Troop numbers? Supplies? Contacting _Surtr_? What is going _on_? What was all that with the knowingly demonstrably formally…” He waved a hand. “Whatever the Hel that was?”

Blodgada softened for a moment, remembering how young Vornir truly was. There was no reason for him to know what had just happened, or to recognize the words.

“Knowingly and demonstrably aiding a formally declared enemy of Jotunheim,” she said, repeating Helblindi’s words. “It’s an act of war, Vornir. One that can't remain unanswered.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, *technically* I made it before the end of Wednesday. I hope the wait was worth it. Feedback appreciated, and as always, love to you all! <3


	18. Chapter 18

Aeslin stretched, her muscles loosening only reluctantly. Briefly massaging the back of her neck, she leaned back a little, wondering at whatever cultural appropriation had managed to make Asgard’s hospital chairs as uncomfortable as those on Earth. _Some things are universal_ , she thought, echoing a conversation she’d once had with Loki as she stood. She rubbed chilly arms as she made her way to what served as a window. No air flowed through the opening; she tapped gently on the edge of the sill and was rewarded with a faint, glowing lattice.

A quiet sigh escaped her lips as she turned away and began yet another circuit around the quiet room. Eleven steps on a side, with a detour around shelves half-filled with books that she had no interest in reading. Her mind was too occupied with other things. She trailed a hand across the spines, feeling the smooth leather ghost along the pads of her fingers as she went by.

Thor had brought the massive stack of books the day before, stolen from Loki’s closely-guarded personal hoard. He’d told her as much, bragging of breaking into his brother’s treasure trove as loudly and clearly as he could without disturbing Parker. They’d both looked over at Loki afterward, hoping for at least a glimpse of outrage, but he’d merely shifted, still in the strange, feverish half-sleep that had held him since his return to Asgard. Thor had sighed, doing his best to keep at least a small smile pasted on his face as he carried the books to the table next to Loki’s bed.

“Fear not, almost-sister,” he’d told Aeslin as he piled them neatly and with slightly too much noise well within his brother’s reach. “I’m sure we’ll find something to capture his interest. His diaries can’t be _that_ hard to find, after all.” There had been no response to this attempt, either, and Thor had sagged, just a bit. His voice had been almost too low for Aeslin to catch as he’d leaned forward, adjusting Loki’s blanket to cover more of the bandages that swathed his upper body. “Fight, little brother,” he’d said. “It’s what you do best.”

When he’d stood again, a tiny muscle in his jaw was twitching. Recognizing the signs from some of their previous arguments, Aeslin had inclined her head to the door with a faint smile. Thor had given her a grateful look, touching a kiss to her cheek, and when Fandral had come straight from the training grounds for his afternoon watch with what appeared to be a half-healed black eye, she hadn’t been surprised at all.

Her reverie was interrupted by a wisp of noise and the odd prickle in her spine that came whenever someone stepped through the wards. Aeslin’s brow knit when she saw Frigga; the queen had been to visit once already that morning, and to see her again so soon was a little surprising. Frigga smiled reassuringly as she came closer, sparing a glance for her son as she did so. Aeslin followed her gaze.

“No change,” she told the queen, unable to hide the disappointment in her voice.

“I wasn’t expecting one,” came the easy reply as Frigga rested the back of her hand against her son’s brow, then his cheek. “There’s always hope, but he’ll need a little longer to battle this, I think.” She flicked Loki’s blanket back, inspecting the bandages stretched across his chest. A few spots of blood were scattered across the wrappings, and she hummed thoughtfully to herself as she replaced the soft coverlet. “I’ll send someone around with fresh linens,” she continued, “though I must admit that my son isn’t the patient I came to see.”

Aeslin’s eyes went automatically to where Parker slept heavily in the other bed, but when Frigga didn’t move, she turned back to the queen, who was studying her.

“I’m fine,” Aeslin replied immediately, doing her best to ignore Frigga’s raised eyebrow.

The queen made a noncommittal noise as she adjusted Loki’s blanket a little tighter. “You’re not sleeping. You barely eat or drink. You won’t allow my healers _or_ me to look at your injuries.”

“I _have_ no injuries.”

A gentle hushing sound; Frigga’s hem skimmed along the ground as she walked past Aeslin to inspect the burns along Parker’s neck. “Thor begs to differ. My son, this child of Earth - theirs was not the only blood spilled on that beach, and you know it. Thor begged you to at least _speak_ to the healers, and you refused.”

“They were busy at the time.”

“Not all of them.”

“Then they _should_ have been.” Aeslin’s temper was beginning to fray, and she felt Frigga’s gentle amusement at it. It was understandable, a small part of Aeslin’s mind thought. She was a mere child against an immortal who had raised two of the most recalcitrant children in the known galaxy. She didn’t stand a chance, not in the end, but it didn’t mean she wouldn’t go down fighting, and neither would Frigga.

“It would appear, then, that some things _are_ universal,” continued the queen, echoing Aeslin’s thought from earlier as she traced her fingers along the scorch marks that circled the boy’s throat. “Healers make perfectly dreadful patients no matter _what_ realm they’re from.”

“I’m not your patient,” Aeslin said.

“You will be if you keep this up,” she replied firmly. “You need food. Sleep.” She held up a hand to forestall the argument that came to Aeslin’s lips. “I’m talking about real sleep, little one, not what you’ve been doing.” A graceful gesture to the other side of the room, where a cot had been set up against the far wall and out of the path of the healers that had passed in and out in a nearly constant stream for the first few days. “Is the bed not to your liking?”

 _It’s too far away._ The words caught on her tongue; she would not show weakness in this place, and she knew full well that the bed was exactly where it should be. She had been in enough hospitals to know the best layout of a sickroom, and this one was, of course, perfect.

“It’s fine.”

A twitch of Frigga’s lip. “Which is why you’re spending your nights curled up in the hideous excuse for a chair I’ve been meaning to replace since long before you were born, or resting on the edge of my son’s bed when you can no longer remain upright, only to wake moments later when a nightmare comes and he lashes out.”

“You’ve done the same.” It wasn’t a question.

“Perhaps.” Seemingly content with Parker’s healing, she straightened and fixed Aeslin which a stern, familiar look. “But even I know when enough is enough. I’ve seen the trays Ingrid sends you returned to the kitchens almost untouched. You’re neglecting yourself. You might not be Midgardian, not anymore, but that doesn’t mean you’re invincible.”

Aeslin set her jaw as she looked away. Loki stirred gently in his sleep, brow knitting, and she smoothed a finger down his forehead automatically as Frigga went on. “My son would tell you the same thing, and knowing you as I do now, I’m sure he’s had to more than once.” She clasped her hands in front of her. “The wards will have to remain, I’m afraid, but there’s no reason why you can’t visit the gardens. Fandral could accompany you.”

“I don’t _need_ to be taken for walks, thank you very much. I need to be _here_. What if he wakes? You saw what happened last time.”

“And you would be summoned, should it happen again,” Frigga assured her immediately.

“What about Parker? He’ll have no idea where he is. I don’t want him to be alone.”

“He won’t be. _Neither_ of them will be alone for a moment.” Her voice softened a little, taking on a tone both firm and cajoling. “You need sunlight. Food. Rest. Time away from this room.” She rested a hand on Aeslin’s where it lay on Loki’s blanket. “You’ve barely left your husband’s side since you arrived.”

Sudden anger flared in Aeslin’s stomach. “He’s not my _husband_!” she shouted, wrenching her hand from beneath the queen’s as her frustration at the whole stupid mess finally broke through. Aeslin met Frigga’s surprised gaze for only a moment before looking down, the defiance still in her face mixing with resignation. Clenching her fingers, she willed the mist to dissipate, shoving the beast back behind the door. It obeyed only reluctantly, and she took a breath as she dropped onto the edge of Loki’s bed. “He’s not my husband,” she said to her hands, voice softer this time.  Aeslin could feel Frigga’s eyes on her, but she refused to acknowledge her. After a long, painful silence, there was a whisper of sound, and then Aeslin felt the strange prickle against the back of her neck as Frigga passed through the wards and out of the room.

***

The light through the window had deepened with the coming sunset when Aeslin was startled awake. She lifted her head from Loki’s blanket and squinted blearily at the figure who entered, waiting for her vision to clear. It was the man from the Forges, the one who had been on the skiff with Eir. He gave her a friendly smile from behind an armful of rolled bandages, and she blinked slowly in return.

“Who are you?” she finally managed.

“My apologies,” he replied, his voice deep and soothing. “I was not able to introduce myself when last we met. I am Forseti, and I am glad to finally meet you, Aeslin Kindlesdottir.” His pronunciation of the nickname was a little different than Loki’s, and it took her a moment to realize that he was using it as a title, just as Thor once had. Aeslin watched him stack the bandages within easy reach, and then he folded Loki’s blanket down to his waist. Forseti studied the blood-speckled bandages for a minute before looking at Aeslin.

“Help me roll him?”

She nodded and stood, familiar with the intricate dance that Loki’s dressing changes invariably became. The thought made her smile a little; even unconscious, he somehow managed to complicate things. Memory surfaced on its own accord, of other sleepy moments spent trying to negotiate her way out of his arms with varying success. She bit her lip against the images while she shrugged one of Thor’s old cloaks from her shoulders. Doing her best to control her voice, Aeslin slid her hands beneath Loki’s too-warm back.

“You’re a healer?”

Forseti shook his head, a slight smile on his face. “Not at the moment,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve been lots of things over the centuries, though; most of us have. Soldiers, healers… three thousand years is a long time to spend in one vocation. A little higher, if you please. There’s a spot that seems to be - has he been fighting the sheets again?”

“Occasionally,” she admitted, “but the draught Frigga left helps with that. It’s just a matter of getting it down him without getting yourself punched in the face.” She smirked a little as she pulled Loki carefully closer, cradling him as best she could on the narrow infirmary bed. “Some of us are better at it than others.” She rolled her eyes. “And they told me medicine wouldn’t be exciting.”

“They’d be wrong,” Forseti grinned, “but what would a battlefield healer know of that?” He glanced up at her, trained eyes going immediately to the faint purple bruising along her jaw that Frigga had hopefully missed. “Remind me to take a look at that when we’re done with the prince. I might have something that will help.”

 _Prince_. The word caught at her; she had almost forgotten that Loki’s true origins were still a well-kept secret. To those few who knew that he had returned, he was merely coming home after a short absence, if somewhat worse for wear. “Maybe.” She kept her voice neutral as she changed the subject. “What are you now, then?”

His voice was a little muffled as he probed gently at a spot near the edge of Loki’s exit wound. “Tailor,” he said. “The bandages are my own creation; they can be imbued with whatever magic the healers might need. Normally I’m able to keep them well-stocked, but work’s picked up since Odin’s sons came home.” A deep laugh. “As it generally does.” He stepped back a bit and surveyed Loki critically. “Just the higher ones, I think. Up for a wrestling match, or… what in Hel’s deepest root cellar are you _wearing_?”

Aeslin loosened her hold on Loki just long enough to get a better grip, looking down at the flowing, lilac and completely impractical confection she wore. She had no idea where it had come from; probably the same person who had handed her a simple grey shift while Frigga had pried her out of her blood-stiffened wedding dress a full two days after her arrival in Asgard. She had changed in the sickroom with Thor holding up his cloak as a curtain, looking everywhere but her and glaring daggers at those who strayed too close to his brother’s beloved.

She looked back at Forseti with a little shrug. “Frigga’s spares? I’m not sure. They just sort of appear with breakfast.”

A snort as the man began cutting bandages free. “More like Frigga’s curtains, if you ask me.” His hands were quick and gentle, and for once, Loki was barely fighting.

“It’s all right,” she said, reaching for the salve that sat on the nightstand and unscrewing the lid. This was one thing they had learned early on that only she could do; more than one healer had discovered that the hard way. Aeslin scooped some of the cool, sharp-smelling gel onto her fingers, swallowing against the ache in her throat as she spread it carefully along the gash on Loki’s chest. Forseti quietly regarded them both as she did so.

“It makes no sense,” he observed after a moment, voice thoughtful.

“What doesn’t?” She took the square of cloth he handed her, pressing it against the skin and gesturing for him to roll Loki just a little.

“None of it,” Forseti answered. “An injury like this? From a small war party? Thor’s warriors, yes. Perhaps Thor himself. Not the Trickster, though. Never the Trickster.”

“Loki would be the first to disagree with you, I think. He told me once that he’s been carried from more than one battlefield.”

“A few,” agreed the tailor. “But those were pitched battles. Full campaigns. Not a skirmish.”

Aeslin ducked under the man’s arm to apply salve to the exit wound, glad that he couldn’t see her face. “It wasn’t a skirmish; it was an ambush.”

“He was ambushed by a party of Marauders on Vanaheim once,” came the reply, still in that maddeningly calm and curious voice. “Caught alone and completely unawares. They never did find all the pieces.”

“It was a wedding,” she returned smoothly. “He had no weapons.” They traded places, Aeslin shifting Loki while Forseti expertly applied fresh bandages. The job went quickly, and soon Loki was safely ensconced in his sheets once more. Forseti picked up the basket that held the bloodied linens and looked at Aeslin.

“I’ve walked the realms for a good long while, Kindlesdottir,” he said with an unreadable smile. “There are few things that have stood as fact in all those years, and one of them is that a mage powerful as Loki Silvertongue is _never_ without a weapon.”

His smile deepened in the ensuing silence, becoming friendlier. “I’ve enjoyed our chat, Aeslin of Midgard. Until we meet again.” He nodded to her, dark eyes twinkling, then turned and walked through the wards.

***

Aeslin spent much of the next day reading, one hand resting on Loki’s out of long habit. Absorbed in the book, she barely noticed the healers coming in and out at regular intervals. It was only after it had grown too dark to see the words clearly that she pulled herself away from the pages. The room was quiet and dim; she rubbed her eyes as she stood and made her way to a lamp in the corner. It brightened lazily as she held a fingertip against the side, giving the room a warm, soft glow. Tightening Thor’s old cloak around her shoulders, she began to pace, working knots out of her muscles as she went.

She was on her fourth circuit around the room when she heard a rough whisper.

“Mom?”

It took her a moment to recognize Parker’s voice; she hadn’t heard it in days. She crossed rapidly to his bed, where he lay staring upward.

“No,” she replied. “Just me. Sorry.”

He blinked slowly, his words thoughtful. “Are we dead?”

She sat gingerly on the edge of the covers, careful not to jostle him. “No.” A faint smile. “Not for lack of trying, though.”

Parker didn’t respond immediately; his eyes remained fixed on the darkened ceiling as though he were afraid to look anywhere else. When he spoke, his tone was flat and controlled.

“I can’t feel my legs.”

“That’s to be expected.” She saw Parker’s hand clench on the blanket and went on quickly. “It’s just temporary while they work to rebuild the connections. It’s taking Eir longer than she thought it would; if she keeps the blocks on your lower body up, she can work for longer periods at a time. It’s a trade.”

He let out a long, low breath. “How long? And who’s Eir?”

Aeslin did some rapid math in her head. “As best I can figure, we’ve been here for a couple of weeks. Could be more; to be honest, I haven’t been paying that much attention. Eir’s the lead healer. I think she has an official title, but I’m also sure I’d butcher the pronunciation. All-Speak my ass. I’m pretty sure they gave me an outdated version the last time I was here. Possibly on purpose.”

“Here. This is Asgard?”

She nodded. “Thor brought us here after… after everything went south.”

He didn’t seem surprised, but continued studying the heavily-carved ceiling. “I meant how long until I work again.”

“Hard to say. Apparently Midgardians are easily broken, not so easily mended. Eir’s optimistic, though.” She tried to inject some lightness into her tone. “You’re healthy. You’re young. We both think it won’t be long now.”

He closed his eyes and let out a slightly pained laugh. “Loki’s right. You are by _far_ the worst liar I’ve ever met. Tell me the truth. You’re better at it.”

Aeslin sighed. “Your spine was broken in four places, including a complete at T2. Crush injuries to your throat, both lungs punctured, every bone in your left arm shattered, and don’t even get me started on the skull fractures. It’s a miracle you survived in the first place, and it was touch and go for a good long while. You’ve got your own Forge, though; they recalibrated it just for you. It’s quite the honor, from what I understand, but from the amount of profanity I heard coming from that part of the room, I’m guessing it won’t be an honor they bestow again any time soon.”

Parker’s lip quirked. “Thought you said your All-Speak was broken.”

“Well, some words transcend mere language.”

The twitch to his lip vanished almost instantly as he shifted against his pillow, and he opened his eyes again. “At least tell me it was worth it. Tell me that I did some good.”

“You did good, Parker,” she said simply.

Something in her voice must have caught him, and he turned pale blue eyes to look at her, then past her at the still figure in the other bed. A second passed before he recognized Loki, and then he swore as he closed his eyes again, soft and vicious.

“He’s alive,” she replied, doing her best to keep the despair out of her voice.

“ _How_ alive?”

“I don’t know. Enough. We’re doing what we can.”

Parker thumped his head against the pillows. “I tried to help him. How stupid is that? A god who literally wasted eight armed intruders in under three minutes on the helicarrier, and I thought I could _help_ him. I should have run. Gotten him some _real_ help. It’s what I _do_ , dammit, and how pathetic does _that_ sound? ‘What’s your superpower, Parker?’ ‘I _run_.’”

“Parker…”

“I was trying to help, and I made it worse. I should have done something else. Maybe that would have saved him.”

 _I could have saved him_. The words slammed into her so hard they took her breath away. She tightened her hand around Parker’s.

“You can’t think like that.”

His voice was quiet and a little bitter. “Why not? You do.”

The words should have stung, but there was no heat behind them. Only a resignation with which she was all too familiar.

“Which is exactly why I’m qualified to tell you that it doesn’t work,” she answered. He was silent, and she took that as permission to continue.

“He’s still here,” she told him. “He’s still with us, and he has no more right to be than you do. You couldn’t save him, but you tried. So did I, and I was too late. You did everything you could. You acted. You fought, and he will be so, so proud of you after he’s done kicking your ass for being stupid. You didn’t fail him, Parker. I swear.”

He held her hand tight enough that she could feel the leaves in her ring digging imprints into her fingers. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

“I can see the ceiling,” Parker said after a long, thoughtful moment. “Are they fixing my eyesight, too? Rebuilding those pathways?”

“More than likely,” she admitted.

He went quiet, and she assumed that he had gone back to sleep. When he spoke again, she could barely hear him.

“Promise me it’s going to be okay.”

The lie came easily to her tongue, whether by necessity or because she wanted so badly to believe it herself.

“I promise.”

***

_She huddles next to Loki, perched precariously between his arm and the edge of the bed and cursing the Asgardians’ complete disregard for safety rails. They would at least give her something to press against, something to ground her instead of feeling as though she’s sleeping on a cliff side._

There’s another bed, _her mind whispers helpfully, but she dismisses it almost immediately, as she does every night when she can no longer stay awake. Here, in the darkness, she can curl up against his side. She can feel him breathe. She can feel him shift in his sleep, murmuring words she can only sometimes understand. She can feel his heat seeping into her spine, and for a few moments, she can pretend that everything is all right._

_The respite is brief, as it always is, and she has been asleep for what seems like only moments before the images come. They are more memory than dream; she is accustomed to them, but tonight they are more vicious than usual. The beach. The Warehouse. Broken glass scattered across a roadway, asphalt hot beneath bloodied knees. Stalks of hay bent over frozen mud. A woman presses a gentle kiss to her forehead before dissolving into mist. Aeslin wakes with her fist in her mouth, hot tears on her face, and at last her path is clear._

_The breakfast tray is there soon after dawn. She ignores it, as she generally does, turning her attention instead to the simple green dress that lies neatly folded next to covered plates and bowls. The young man who delivers it, familiar with the early morning routine, waits for a few minutes while Aeslin darts into the small attached room for a quick, shivering scrub. More impatient than she’d like to be, she tries not to drip water onto the polished floor of the room while the boy tightens the laces on the gown. He bows as he leaves, the wards flickering as he passes through. She rakes her fingers through her hair, twisting it into a bun before reaching for Thor’s old cloak, wrapping the warm, too-long garment around herself like a blanket._

_She is standing at the window when Frigga arrives; the Queen’s footsteps are familiar by now, and Aeslin does not even have to turn around. Instead, she traces her finger along the windowsill, watching the flickers of gold follow her hand like glittering fish._

_“Is this even real?”_

_The Queen comes to stand next to her, looking out over the carefully kept landscape before them. “Yes,” she replies. “We’re on the southern side of the palace; you can just see Ingrid’s herb patch over there, and directly below us is the entrance to the summer gardens.” She pauses, regarding Aeslin curiously. “You believed it an illusion?”_

_Aeslin shrugs as she stares out at the sparkling ribbon of water in the distance._

_“Ahh.” Understanding blooms in Frigga’s voice. “You thought it a prison.”_

_“Can you blame me? Consider the inmates. A traitor. A mortal. Whatever I am.”_

_A gentle chuckle. “I assure you, little one. It is no prison. The wards keep you in, yes, but they are also for your protection, and that of the other… inmates, as you so charmingly put it. News of my son’s return has already spread, but it must, by necessity, spread slowly. Delicately.”_

_“Right along the paths you want it to,” returns Aeslin without rancor. “Bit and pieces. Just enough truth to settle any nagging questions.”_

_“And at last you begin to understand, my child,” comes the reply. Frigga gives her a canny look. “But you didn’t request my presence to talk about the intricacies of court life, I’m sure.”_

_“No, and in retrospect it was terribly presumptuous of me to pull you away from… whatever important thing it was that you were doing. My apologies.”_

_Frigga gives her a warm smile. “You’re consort to a prince of Asgard, my dear, and I’m really_ quite _fond of you. That gives you more clout than you probably realize, not to mention that I far prefer your company over that of the other young ladies who seem to appear whenever my sons come home. You have my full attention, Kindlesdaughter.”_

_Aeslin clenches her fists beneath the cloak and does not take her eyes from the window. “I want you to fix me.” She plows on before she can think better of it; what seemed so clear the night before is more frightening now that the words are out. “You told me once that you could help me. Heal my brain so it doesn’t hurt to use my powers. If your offer still stands, I’d like to take it.”_

_Frigga’s silence is expectant, and Aeslin is more than happy to fill it with words she would not be able to stop now in any case. The floodgates have broken, but she still cannot look at Frigga. She focuses on a small patch of what might be mint and keeps talking._

_“I don’t want my powers. I never have. I hated what they meant, hated what they made me. My life was a series of dominos, falling one after another in a perfect line, and all of a sudden there’s a monster behind the door and I can’t always close it. I forget what it’s like to be human, and every time I have to use them, it gets worse. It gets harder to remember who I am.” She catches herself. “Who I was. I’m afraid. I’ve been so afraid, and that fear has cost me.”_

_“And its price?”_

_“My brother,” she answers. “Your son. Perhaps more.”_

_“My son still lives.”_ _Aeslin feels the Queen’s eyes on her for a moment, and then Frigga, too, turns back to the far-off river._

_“Tell me, Kindlesdaughter,” she asks. “These powers of yours… do they allow you to bend time?”_

_“Not that I know of.”_

_“I see. Do they give you precognition? You can tell the future?”_

_“No.”_

_“See through walls?”_

_She stifles an irritable sigh. “No.”_

_“Hmm.” Frigga’s voice is thoughtful. “So you cannot change the past. You followed orders like any soldier should, and you could not save your brother from the path that claimed his life. The path that_ he _chose. You could not see the Jotun coming from the sea through the walls of your cottage. You are a warrior, but you lack experience. You could not have predicted how they would attack. What they would do. How your friends would respond. You punish yourself for things over which you have no control.”_

_“I could have stopped it. I could have done more.”_

_“No.” The word is no less brutal despite the kindness with which it is spoken. “You could have done no different. You did what you could with the knowledge and strength that you had, and to expect anything else is foolishness. You swallowed your pride and asked my son to teach you. You used your powers with no thought of their cost to you. You fought bravely. There is nothing more you could have done for any of them.”_

_The leaves outside the window blur, and Aeslin blinks as she gives the response she always does. “You don’t know that.”_

_“Actually,” replies the Queen, “I do.” She clasps her hands in front of her, regal in the morning sunlight. “My offer still stands, Aeslin of Midgard. I will help you, provided you do something for me first.”_

_Aeslin remains silent, waiting for the Queen to continue, and Frigga laughs quietly. “There, you see? You won’t agree to anything until I give you my terms; you’re learning already. You’re wise beyond your years, and that will carry you far on this Realm. I only ask that you are willing to learn. To trust me. If this is truly what you want, it will not be easy or neat. Metamorphosis never is.”_

_Aeslin nods as the Queen goes on. “You are not what you were, Aeslin, but more and more I think you are what you were born to be. Embrace that. Accept it. You cannot alter the past, but you can shape the future. So, Aeslin Kindlesdaughter… are we agreed?”_

_“Agreed,” she says, wondering if there’s some sort of secret handshake required to seal their bargain. “I just… Not yet.”_

_Frigga smiles as she looks across at her sleeping son. “A fair excuse at best,” she replies with a lilt to her voice that does not quite reach her eyes, “but since I’ve apparently no chance at getting you out of this room before then, we shall wait until my son wakes.”_

_“Which he will,” she says, lifting her chin._

_The Queen takes her hand, squeezing her fingers gently. “That he will, little one. That he will.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry for the wait, y'all. SO SORRY. my life has been one big game of whack-a-mole and at LAST this mole got whacked. <3 
> 
> author's note: i have very few face claims; i prefer to allow people to cast my OCs as they would like, but i do have very specific casting for Forseti (The Alchemist and i both think it's completely perfect.) let me know if you'd like me to share. 
> 
> feedback appreciated. thank you all so much for your patience. <3


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thor comes to a decision.

_Loki hovers in the strange twilight between sleeping and waking, Dream and memory twine together; his sleep is haunted by kings and witches, lightning and darkness. Snatches of songs come and go, words he cannot remember. There is little constant but the dull ache that sits like a burning stone in his core; the pain wanders and throbs throughout his entire body. He cannot calm it, no matter how he shifts or adjusts, and so he lies as still as he can through the deep hours, waiting for it to cease. Images beckon him, only to vanish just before he can touch them, and he is invariably left in silence._

_In darkness again, but this time, he is not alone._

_The presence is warm, soothing and familiar. It disappears on occasion; the first time it did so, Loki had been left thrashing in the darkness for what seemed like years, but may have been only a few minutes. It had returned just before he had lost himself completely, its whispered responses to his cries pulling him free of the Void once more, and it had not left again for a long time. There have been other times that it leaves, only for a moment here and there, always returning, and at last Loki has come to understand that the presence is another, more welcome constant in the shifting sea of pain and delirium to which he has become accustomed. It is a woman; of that he is sure. He knows her touch and scent better than his own name, but he remembers little else. The fog of pain and fever make sure of that._

_She is gone at this moment, and he finds himself counting the seconds until she will return. It is not long before another comes into her place. This one is also familiar, a memory far deeper than the first. His hands are rougher, more timeworn, but he calls to Loki with nearly the same words and with the same gentle pleading in his tone. There is a desperation to the voice that Loki has not heard from this one before, and so he resolves this time to wake. He has tried before and failed, but today will be different._

_It must be. The pain grows duller, more consuming by the hour; it threatens to swallow him completely, and even in his broken, confused state, Loki understands how dangerous it is to even consider giving in to the oblivion it offers._

_He is dying. He knows it, and he only wishes that he could remember why he refuses to. It has something to do with the woman, and with the man who now sits at his side, and if he can but wake, he will try to ask them._

_Loki gathers what strength he has, forcing himself further to the surface. Willing his hands to work, he jams his thumbnail into the side of his index finger, giving himself another nidus of pain on which to focus. Slowly, too slowly, his eyes come open. He is briefly blinded by the brilliant morning sun streaming through a window near his head, and he turns away from the glare with a faint groan. The light dims almost immediately, but not before the figure in front of him swims into focus. He stares for a long, quiet moment, taking in the planes of the face, the beard, the tousled blond hair. The other looks up for a second, catching the eye of someone across the room. Loki hears rapid footsteps on the floor but does not turn his head to look; instead, he studies the man in front of him with brow knit._

_“Do you know me, brother?” the blond asks, and Loki does in a sudden flash of understanding._

_“Excellent well,” he responds without thought, barely recognizing his own voice. “You’re a fishmonger. You’re my pickle-faced consumptive Mary Jane.” Loki lifts his head a little to look at the other who comes to kneel at the side of his bed, and his heart leaps to see the face he’d thought lost to him forever. He brushes his knuckles clumsily along her jaw. “And this one tastes of lightning and stardust and the first mead of summer. She also cheats at poker.”_

_“Never,” she lies, tears in her eyes that match those in his brother’s, and Loki has never loved two people more in his life than he does in this moment. He catches the look of exasperated hope on his brother’s face and gives him half a smile in return; Loki is too exhausted for much else._

_“Yes, Thor. I know you. If nothing else, the ‘brother’ bit would have given it away. Subterfuge never was your strong suit.” Thor laughs a little, and Loki manages the other half of his grin. It takes more effort than it should, though, and so he shifts again, his eyes going back to the ceiling above him. A soft rustle comes from somewhere off to his right; he carefully turns toward the noise._

_Parker looks different without his glasses, and the scruffy beard smudged across his cheeks and chin does little to cover the vibrant scars on his neck. Loki says a single, vicious word._

_“Funny,” Aeslin observes as she brushes a lock of hair from Loki’s forehead. “He said the very same thing about you.”_

_Words are becoming more difficult; Loki is tiring by the second but fights slipping back into sleep as best he can. “Is he all right?”_

_“He will be,” Thor says. “He gets better by the day, and he fights with the spirit of a warrior that would be welcome in these halls or any others.”_

These halls. _He is not wrong, then. “We’re on Asgard.”_

_“For the foreseeable future, I’m afraid,” his brother answers. “The Bifrost is heavily guarded. None can so much as enter the Observatory without the All-Father’s leave, and you cannot be moved in any case.”_

_“And what of Odin?”_

_His brother’s voice brooks no argument. “Do not concern yourself with him. Your energies are best served elsewhere. Rest. Heal.”_

_Loki chokes back what might be a laugh. “Don’t_ concern _myself? Gods, Thor. You brought a banished criminal to his doorstep without even bothering to apologize, from that look of guilt on your face. Into his very_ home _. You’ll be lucky if_ you’re _not thrown out next. Again. The old man’s never going to get to die at this rate, not the way he’s going through heirs.”_

_“It was also your home,” Thor chides. “The decision was mine alone, and I would make it again. A hundred times. A hundred thousand. Leave Odin to me.”_

_Weariness creeps its way into Loki’s bones, burrowing deeply into the hole in his chest; he is suddenly too worn to argue further. “As you wish.” A sigh passes his lips, and the words follow before he can stop them. “I’m so tired, Thor.”_

_His brother’s touch is careful, as though Thor is afraid he will break him. “I know, little brother. Rest, if you can. It will do you good.”_

I don’t want to _, Loki tries to say, but his tongue fails him. Instead, he presses his face a little harder into Aeslin’s palm to draw strength, steeling himself as best he can before the dreams and darkness overwhelm him once more._

_***_

Loki’s face was hot against her hand, and Aeslin gently stroked her thumb across his cheekbone. He didn’t respond, fever-bright eyes closed and already lost in a fitful sleep once more. Thor kept his hand on his brother’s; his shoulders were hunched, and his face was unreadable.

“It’s not good,” she said after a long time, the words that she had steadfastly refused to say to Frigga finally dropping into the silence.

Thor looked at his fingers, tan and strong against Loki’s pale skin. “No,” he answered. “It isn’t.”

“Is there anyone else?” Aeslin looked up at Thor. His head was bowed, blond hair brushing his jaw. “I mean, not to speak ill of Frigga or Eir or their skill, but…” she bit her lip, glancing back at Loki and hoping he couldn’t hear them. “There are other realms; surely there’s someone who can do _something_. There has to be.” She recognized the fear in her voice, felt herself grasping for straws.

“I know of only one other. One who has skill and knowledge far beyond anyone besides the All-Mother, one whom I firmly believe has stood face to face with Hel herself to negotiate for more than a few souls.” His voice was rough with anger. “And he lies dying in this bed.” Thor gently smoothed the blanket that covered his brother, then shoved back his chair and stood in one movement. His face was set, muscles tensing in his arms as he spun toward the door.

“Thor-”

“Stay with him,” the blond replied brusquely. “Keep him here. With us. Do _not_ let him leave. I will return as soon as I can.”

She shook her head a little helplessly. “But where are _you_ going?”

He stopped at the door and glanced over his shoulder; the hairs on Aeslin’s arms prickled at his expression.

“To end this.”

***

I’m so tired, Thor.

_The words tumble through Thor’s head as he strides through the hallways of the palace; he barely notices the courtiers and pages that scatter before him like leaves. He does not see the fear, the curiosity in their faces as he storms past. His mind is still in the sickroom, at Loki’s side._

I’m so tired.

_A faint rumble of thunder sounds from beyond the arcade of stone that stretches along Thor’s left. He ignores both it and the two men that dodge out of his way. By the time he reaches the corridor that leads to his destination, the storm has strengthened. Rain falls in sheets as people scamper into the shelter of the palace walls. They swirl around him like a flock of birds, warping and shifting to keep from his path and from the anger in his face._

_Except it is not only fury. It is terror._

I’m so tired, _Loki told him, and Thor has not been able to breathe since that moment. They are words he has not heard from Loki since they were children. The boy could say them after a long day of fighting, or studying, or both. He and Thor would play games long into the night, well after their nurses had given up on them and gone to bed, and as the sun rose, the boy might admit that he was sleepy. The man never would. Not after days without rest. Not after months on the battlefield. Loki dismisses injury and discomfort with a twist of the lip, a well-timed joke or by ignoring it completely, because to do otherwise shows weakness._

_Thor has held out hope that Loki will recover, that by some miracle Frigga and Eir will be able to save him. Held out hope that Loki will save himself, shaking off blood and bandages like a chrysalis and emerging whole once more. Thor has convinced himself that his brother will survive this, and now he knows that Loki will not. He knows, because Loki has told him so in the only words he could find._

I’m so tired, Thor.

_The Einherjar in the vestibule come to attention as Thor approaches. He does not spare them a glance as he shoves the doors to Odin’s council chamber open; both his father and those gathered around him look up in alarm at the hollow crash of the heavy doors slamming against the walls. Odin stands slowly, and as the echoes fade, he locks eyes with his son. Thor does not waver beneath that piercing stare, meeting it instead with a challenge of his own._

_“Out,” Thor snaps, voice sharp and frigid as the rain that streams through the window at the far end of the room. “All of you.”_

_As he knew they would, each council member turns to look at Odin. One makes the mistake of opening his mouth, and Thor speaks over him, not taking his gaze from his father._

_“I said_ out _.”_

_The man’s jaw closes with an audible click as he stares at Thor; he gathers the stack of parchment on the table in front of him to his chest like a shield and heads for the door. The others follow silently until the king and his heir are the only two left in the room. The doors close again, this time with a quiet thump._

_Odin regards his son from across the time-darkened table. “Something troubles you?”_

_He wonders how his brother does it. How he keeps his fury so cold and contained, hidden so deep that by the time it’s noticeable, it’s far too late. Thor wants to erupt, to let his rage loose upon the scattered sheaves of parchment and upon the rest of the long-suffering council room. Instead, he focuses inward and on the four words that brought him here in the first place._

_“He’s dying.”_

_There is no surprise in the All-Father’s face; he merely continues to watch his son in a silence that Thor is all too eager to fill._

_“Do you not hear me?” His voice grows louder, anger gathering below the surface. “He is_ dying _, Father. The healers have reached the limit of what they can do. Even Mother sees it. Every day he fades.”_

_“We are not gods, my son,” Odin replies calmly. “We live. We die. We are not immortal.”_

_“And he is not even one of us, so what hope does_ he _have?” Thor finishes. There is no bitterness in his words, but the All-Father’s eye narrows nonetheless. Thor comes closer, standing next to the table but stopping short of the dais. “Loki can defeat this. He can walk away from it, just as he has before. You_ know _he can. He has the skill and the knowledge, if you would but give him the tools-”_

_“I will not. We have spoken of this before, Thor. We do not need to bring it up again.”_

_“How can you stand idle?” Thor explodes. “Son or not. Traitor or not. What he is to you now makes no difference to me, but my brother lies bleeding his life out, All-Father._ My brother. _And you do nothing.”_

_“And what, my son-” there is a subtle emphasis on the word, and Thor bristles in response, “would you have me do?”_

_“End this foolishness. Loki has paid for his crimes a hundred times over. He has done everything you asked. Met every possible requirement, and still you leave him banished. Crippled.”_

_“There were no requirements. His punishment was not yours, Thor. He-”_

_“_ Enough!” _Thor slams his fist down onto the table; goblets tip with cheerful clatters, their deep red contents spilling and soaking into the wood like ichor. Images flicker through Thor’s mind, ones he has smothered but cannot forget. Blood covering his brother’s nearly unrecognizable face, crimson against the crisp white sheets of a SHIELD hospital bed. Scars hidden a second too late, ones that Thor does not remember and that his brother will not explain. The devastation in Loki’s eyes as he let himself fall into the Void. Loki in Stark’s kitchen at Solstice, listening to Thor’s fumbled apologies and staring as though the God of Thunder has gone completely mad._

Don’t you see, brother? There’s nothing to forgive, _Loki says, and he is wrong._

_He is wrong._

_The memories are gone in a split second; the wine has barely begun to drip from the table to the floor before Thor gathers himself._

_“He has done enough,” he continues. “You can stop this, Father. Please._ Do _something.”_

_It is the wrong thing to say. Perhaps there are no right words, not anymore, but the All-Father draws himself up._

_“You think I have been idle? You think I have done nothing? That I merely sit upon the throne of Asgard, making crowns of flowers and pestering the bards? Take a good look around you, Thor. I have been trying to prevent a war.”_

_“A score of Jotun on a Midgard beach is not a_ war _, All-Father. It was an ambush.”_

_“Is that all you see?” Odin retorts with a laugh. “Is that all you hear, sitting in a sickroom like a nursemaid? Ignoring your duties while your friends hold your seat in council and make your excuses? War is coming, my son, and it’s time you realized that. Frigga and I have done all we could to stop it, but it is inevitable. It has been since Loki murdered their king and turned the Bridge on his own people.”_

_The words strike somewhere between Thor’s heart and stomach. He takes a step back, not from his father, but from the image of his brother pleading with their father in the seconds before he let go._

I could have done it, Father. For you. For all of us.

_A smile in Stark’s kitchen as he squeezes lemon into tea._

Frost giants aren’t meant for Valhalla, Barton, for which I’m forever grateful.

_Another lie, one which spilled so easily from Loki’s lips that Thor almost believed him. He clenches his fist so tightly he can feel the bones grinding in his fingers as his father continues._

_“We spent_ weeks _on Jotunheim, Thor. Bargaining. Negotiating. Listening. Doing whatever we could to make reparations for Loki’s actions, and for what? Another king dead on a Midgardian beach, and any chance for peace gone with him.”_

I never wanted the throne. I only ever wanted to be your equal.

 _“You blame_ Loki _for this? You think all of this is_ his _doing? That this all begun when he ruined my coronation?” Thor closes the distance between himself and his father, one foot on the steps leading toward the dais where Odin stands. “Do you honestly believe that we are not complicit in what he did? What he became?” He laughs, a rough, strange sound. “God of mischief. God of lies. Norns, Father, where the Hel do you think he_ learned _it?”_

_He sees the blow coming, and he does not bother to dodge. Instead, he allows the shock to flow through him as his head whips to the side; by the time Thor turns his face back to his father’s, he can already feel the blood trickling down his cheek. Odin stands stiff and straight, knuckles white around Gungnir’s haft._

_“Enough.” His father’s voice is flat. “There is work to be done. Allies to gather. I say again, Thor. War is coming, whether we like it or not, and I have no more time to waste.” He gathers himself, striding down the steps past his son and toward the door._

_“And if your allies displease you?” Thor asks. “Will you cast them aside, as well?”_

_The doors to the council chamber come open, but Odin freezes. Thor wonders if this is when he is banished once more, and he straightens in anticipation of the All-Father’s wrath. Instead, his father does not even spare him a glance._

_“Ready my horse,” he merely says to one of the guards, “and find someone to clean up this mess.” Then the doors shut behind him, and Thor is alone again._

_***_

_There is little pageantry surrounding Odin and Friggas’ departure. A few of those gathered look curiously at Thor, then at Sif, who sits astride her massive roan warhorse and does her best to pretend that nothing is out of the ordinary._

_It is her place, Thor assures those who seem confused. He is only a god of thunder. She is a god of war, blooded and worthy above all others, and he smiles and gives her restless stallion a friendly thump. Sif shoots him a grateful look in return; it is almost lost in the brilliant light streaming from the Bridge, and then they are gone. The thunder from the Bifrost has barely faded before Thor is on his way back to the palace with a brief nod to the Watcher. Heimdall dips his head in response, impassive as always, and Thor feels a brief flicker of hope._

_He slips up the stairs to the healers’ wing, boots almost silent on the stone floors. Passing through the wards, Thor sees that Parker’s bed is empty. He looks over at his brother’s cot, where Aeslin sits among the pillows with Loki’s head in her lap._

_“He’s at the Forges,” she replies to his unspoken question. “Eir says he’s nearly finished.” A slight chuckle. “Like he’s a motorcycle she’s been working on or something. She’s planning to take the blocks off tomorrow and see how he runs.”_

_“Wonderful.” He spares her a rapid smile, then turns his attention to his brother. “Loki. Time to wake up, brother. You’ve been idle long enough.”_

_“I’m awake,” comes the drowsy reply, though Loki doesn’t open his eyes. “Have been since you charged in here like a drunken hedgeboar. It’s a good thing Eir’s_ not _in here; she’d have booted your ass back out in a second, and I’d have paid good money to watch her do it.”_

_“So you’re awake. Good. That’s something, at least. Can you walk?”_

_He does open his eyes then, and he and Aeslin stare at Thor with perfectly matched expressions. Loki lets out half a laugh that dies aborning when he realizes how serious Thor is. He lifts an eyebrow, inky black against a ghost-white face and eyes made all the bluer by the shadows beneath them._

_“Why the hell not?” he answers after studying Thor for a long, quiet moment. “It’s not as though it can make things worse.” He shifts, and Aeslin looks at Thor with a panicked fury in her face._

_“Have you lost your damn mi-” she hisses at him, but Loki raises a hand to her lips. At least, it seems to Thor that he means to, but instead his fingers bump clumsily against her nose._

_“Now, now, little one. You know as well as I do that I’m right. Allow a man to die on his feet, won’t you? Besides, he’s already broken me into Asgard. Perhaps Valhalla’s next.”_

_Thor crosses to the bed, twitching back the covers and making sure Loki’s at least somewhat decent. “Something like that. Help me, little sister.”_

_They manage to get Loki onto his feet; he winces at the pull of his wound, leaning heavily on his brother but staying mostly upright. Aeslin hands Thor his second-best cloak, slipping it from from her shoulders, and he drapes it around his brother to hide the bandages as best he can. The effect is striking; the deep red heightens Loki’s pallor, and Thor is reminded of a_ draugr _from the stories Frigga used to frighten them with during the long winter nights. A revenant. A ghost. Thor sets his teeth against the image and props his brother up._

_“What about the wards?” Aeslin asks as they make their way across the floor, nearly dragging Loki between them. Loki looks at the two of them in curiosity._

_“The plot thickens,” he says, breath little more than gasps. “What wards?”_

_“The ones your wife is going to break.”_

_“Not my wi-” Loki begins in the same moment that Aeslin glances at Thor in alarm._

_“What the_ hell _do you mean by-”_

 _“And_ hurry _,” Thor tells her. “We don’t have much time.”_

_Her eyes flare silver, and at the edges of his consciousness, Thor can feel her probing at the edges of the doorway, searching for a weak spot. A drop of blood bubbles from her ear, skittering down her neck; her concentration wavers._

_“Just push.”_

_“I can’t-”_

_“You_ can. _Don’t think. Just do._ ”

 _She shuts her eyes; Thor winces against the pressure in his ears. The door hits the opposite wall in a shower of splinters, and Thor rapidly shuttles Loki through the resulting hole. His brother chuckles as they step into the hallway, congratulating Aeslin on her flair, and she gives him a look that only makes him laugh all the harder. “Gods,” Loki wheezes as the three of them stumble down a back staircase. “I will_ never _get tired of that.”_

_He does tire, though, and quickly; by the time they arrive at their destination, Thor and Aeslin are all but carrying him, and sweat is beading on his upper lip. His fever is returning, and as they negotiate the final, treacherous set of stairs, Thor worries that he has pushed his brother too far, too fast. He cannot fail. Not now. Not when they are so close._

_Loki looks up at they approach the Vault. The two Einherjar guarding the doorway step forward; Thor meets them halfway, and they clatter to the ground without so much as a groan. He returns to his brother. Loki stares at the unconscious soldiers, then at Thor, who slides an arm beneath his shoulders and pulls him toward the entrance to Odin’s sanctum._

_“Not Valhalla,” Loki murmurs, and Thor shakes his head._

_“Not even close.” He glances back to Aeslin. “Watch the door. This won’t take long.”_

_***_

_The Vault is silent save for their footsteps. There are no guards within, and with the Destroyer gone, the room feels deserted. Abandoned. Thor leads him unerringly to an alcove. Within are three pedestals; on the center pillar stands a bowl, shallow and elegant. A flame writhes within the curve of glass, flickering green and gold and silver in the cool light of the Vault. It twists around itself, ever shifting, never stilling, and Loki cannot help but laugh._

And he calls _me_ dramatic.

_The laugh dies on his lips as he looks at the other objects in the alcove. The Warlock’s Eye. The Tablet of Life and Time. Relics gathered from across the cosmos, hoarded and kept safely hidden._

_Relics that Odin believes can trigger Ragnarok. The end of days. And here, in the middle of them all, sits his stolen son’s magic. The enormity of what his brother has done, what he plans to do, takes Loki’s breath away._

_“Thor.”_

_“It is yours. Take it.”_

_“He’ll kill you for this.”_

_“He won’t,” Thor replies. “Not yet. He still has need of me.”_

_“You’re a fool.”_

_“And he’s the greater one. Enough is enough, Loki. Take it. Use it.”_

_He knows exactly what his brother means, and he shakes his head. “It won’t matter if I do. He’ll kill us, Thor.”_

_“He’ll have to get through her first,” his brother says, and for a moment Loki cannot decide if he means Frigga or Aeslin. It almost does not matter. He stares at the flame, unwilling to open his mouth for fear he will say what he actually means._

I don’t want it.

_He is not sure why he hesitates. The magic calls to him, and his blood and bones cry out in answer. He has been without it for too long. A breath. A lifetime._

_He had thought himself worse than dead when it was first taken. Now he is not so sure. He has come far without it, further than he ever thought possible. It was too high a price to pay, and now he would pay it a thousandfold._

_“I cannot lose you,” his brother says from far away. “I cannot stand by and watch you die. Not again. I beg of you, Loki. Do not leave me. Do not leave her_. _”_

Send me back.

_The words are his own, but he does not remember saying them. Faces outlined in starlight. They offer him solace, and he turns away._

Send me back.

_There is no sound from his brother; his argument has been made, and they both know there is nothing else Thor can say. Loki lets out a long, soft breath, then steps forward, shedding Thor’s cloak as he goes and willing his legs to support him. He reaches forward with careful fingers; his magic responds by curling toward them, sinuous as a lover, and without another thought, he scoops the flame into his hand. It teases, flickering delicately along his palm and sending sparks of what might be pain through the nerves in his arm._

Of course, _he thinks, a sort of resignation taking over._ Because of course it will.

_Then he grits his teeth, shuts his eyes and closes his fist around the flames._

_The next thing he knows, he is on his hands and knees on the Vault floor, shaking and weeping like a child. His throat is raw from screaming; his chest burns with the effort of holding himself up, and she catches him just before his arms give out and he collapses to the ground. He clings to her, power seething and raging through him, and at last, at last he understands the book she gave him, the one he'd devoured and loved and hated so much that he'd refused to speak to her for nearly a full day after he’d finished it._

I did not know that I was so empty, to be so full _._

_He senses his brother next to him; he breathes her scent and feels her touch as his magic settles once more into cracks and holes long abandoned, and Loki finally knows what home truly is._

_Still wounded, still aching, helpless as a kitten on the floor of the All-Father’s treasure room, he cannot think of what to say that will even matter, and so, exhausted and foolish, he says the first thing that comes to mind._

_“I smell smoke. Is something on fire?”_

_“Well,” she says, tears in her voice and laughter in those haunting green eyes, “not now that we’ve put you out.”_

_***_

Eir returned to the healer’s wing with Parker a long while later, ignoring the hastily-swept and poorly hidden piles of splinters as she pushed the young man’s wheeled chair through the gaping entryway. She spared barely a glance for what was left of the door where it stood propped against the wall near the bookshelf, nodding to Thor while she went past. He looked up from his book and gave her a friendly smile. The healer settled Parker in his bed; still drowsy from the treatments, he fell asleep almost immediately. She rested a gentle hand on his head, then turned to the other bed.

Aeslin was curled in the chair next to Loki’s cot, drowned in sleep and covered in Thor’s cloak. A faint scent of what might have been smoke clung to the fabric, and Eir made a mental note to have it cleaned at the first opportunity. She moved on to the prince, pulling back his blanket and inspecting the bandages that crisscrossed his chest. Resting a hand on his ribs, she stretched a bit of magic out to judge his healing, and a faint smile flicked across her lips. It was gone before she replaced the covers, adjusting them a little too precisely.

“I’m told that my second-favorite patient woke today,” she said to Thor, whose face split into a wide grin in response. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when it happened, but I’m very glad to hear it.” Eir looked at the younger prince, who still clearly hovered in that dangerous place between life and death. “He has a long way to go yet, but hopefully it’s a sign of good things to come.”

“It is,” replied Thor. “I’m sure of it. We’ll be sure to send for you when he wakes again.”

_When. Not if._

Eir inclined her head. “I shall leave him to his healing, then,” she remarked, then stopped in the shattered doorway and fixed Thor with a stern gaze only tempered by the merriment in her dark brown eyes. “And I’ll expect my door fixed by morning, son of Odin.”

Thor casually turned a page in his book. “Fear not, my lady,” he responded, the smile still on his face. “The craftsmen are already on their way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (bonus points if you get the references and quotes.)
> 
> Feedback appreciated, as always. Thanks for sticking with me! Love you all! <3


	20. Chapter 20

The Bifrost touched down within the great courtyard of Freyr’s palace on Alfheim, precisely where it had for time immeasurable. The stone beneath Sleipnir’s hooves had been polished and repaired over the centuries, but the pattern of the Bridge remained as a reminder of the elves’ unwavering loyalty to the All-Father. A contingent of elves stood waiting at the edge of the open space, and as the last rumbles of the Bridge faded, Freyr led them forward. He bowed languidly to Odin, then to Frigga and received stern, regal nods in turn.

Odin dismounted easily, passing the reins to a groom that appeared silently at his elbow - one that was very familiar with Sleipnir and his temperament. The steed whickered irritably, mostly for show, and then allowed himself to be led a few meters away. Others in Odin’s party followed suit, slipping from mounts and falling into step beside and behind their king.

“Odin All-Father,” Freyr began, opening his arms with a smile. “I bid you welcome to my home. To what do we owe the pleasure? Your message was… cryptic at best.”

“All in due time.” A glance to the side, and Frigga stepped forward to rest a slim hand on Odin’s arm. His right arm; a symbol to all that the All-Father was never truly blind with his wife at his side. This was not the time to show weakness. Freyr nodded in understanding and took his place next to Odin; Sif followed only a pace or two behind. They worked their way through the milling crowd; the confusion was controlled and a bit of a welcome distraction. Odin’s mind kept flickering back to the argument with Thor, and the last words his son had spoken to him. He shoved down the worry and answered Freyr’s less intrusive questions with as much of a smile as he could muster. The other seemed to notice Odin’s distance, and at last, he gave up on his gentle prodding.

“I’ve taken the liberty of having the kitchens prepare some refreshment,” the elf said as he led the way down a long hallway toward the council chambers. “I thought perhaps you and your party might wish to gather yourselves before we convene. I mean, it’s not a difficult journey, but you have come quite a distance, as I remember. Or perhaps it just seemed so at the time; long has it been since I was last on Asgard.”

“An oversight that should be remedied sooner rather than later,” Frigga said smoothly.

“Agreed,” came the canny reply. “Though I fear a visit now might not be as relaxing as I would hope.”

Odin glanced over at the man, but Freyr kept his gaze on the hallway ahead. The All-Father stifled a sigh as the conversation continued around him, eager to have the business at hand over as soon as possible. He resented the niceties, resented what had brought him here in the first place, and schooled his face as best he could.

The feeling, when it came, caught Odin off-guard. A strong, sudden tug of strange magic, gone almost before it came, and the All-Father’s steps slowed for a fraction of a second as he realized what had happened.

_The wards._

Odin turned his head toward his wife. She was already watching him, and as their eyes met, she shook her head infinitesimally. Surprised, he nearly stumbled; she dug her fingers into his arm none-too-gently as she all but pulled him along. The look on her face was one with which he was quite familiar. _Patience. It will be all right._

Though reluctant to believe her, centuries of experience allowed him to quicken his steps once more, now eager to reach the rooms set aside for the Asgardian contingent. Gritting his teeth to keep from spitting the useless platitudes that sent Freyr on his way, Odin gave orders that his people should rest and refresh, then headed at full speed to the inner chambers reserved for him.

He had barely closed the door behind him when a different but horribly familiar sensation came; this one nearly took his breath away. It was closely followed by another wave of power so recognizable he could practically smell it through the open window.

_The Vault._

_Loki_.

Odin whirled to where Frigga stood in front of the door, hands clasped serenely before her.

“But how-” The words cut off almost immediately, replaced by an image of his son, face cold with fury and blond hair darkened by rain.

_Thor._

Odin’s fingers tightened around Gungnir’s haft, and he took a step toward the exit, only coming to a halt when he realized that Frigga had not moved and clearly had no intention of doing so.

“Don’t,” was all she said.

He stared at her in shocked silence.

Frigga’s voice was calm and inexorable. “You will lose them both,” she went on, “and that is something you cannot afford to do. Not now.” She fell silent, but Odin was able to finish her thought. _Not again._

“He openly defies me. It is betrayal, or worse. Treason.”

“What did you expect?” she replied. “Thor hasn’t agreed with his brother’s sentence since he returned with the Tesseract. Not since he fought alongside Loki on Midgard. It was only a matter of time, opportunity and the right push.” A small, sad smile. “You underestimate him, I think. Even now.”

“My word was explicit, and he chose to defy it. To choose Loki over his own blood.”

“An unfair choice, and one that _you_ forced him to make,” she answered, unwavering. “You demanded Thor’s loyalty by virtue of being the All-Father, by being _his_ father. He gave it willingly, and without question. Loki _earned_ his brother’s loyalty; it took him far longer and cost him far more, but he earned it, and then he earned it _back_.” Her face took on a curious look. “Is that not what you wanted all along?”

“Once, perhaps,” Odin admitted, “but that time is past. I should have foreseen this.”

A light shrug. “You are the All-Father, yes, but that does not make you infallible. Ever have our sons’ futures been clouded, and not just to your sight. To mine, as well. Perhaps this is as it should have been all along.”

 _Our sons._ The words teased at Odin; he knew that she had chosen them deliberately. Loki had learned his lessons well, and from one of the best in the Realms. Despite any feelings that Odin himself might have regarding the prize he had plucked from Laufey’s very temple, there had never been any doubt that Loki was Frigga’s son. Her moonlit child, strange and quicksilver next to Odin’s golden one. Lieutenant to the Valkyrie Queen, her left hand in battle. A high calling, if not always a noble one. He had not been given the position, despite his apparent birthright; instead, he had earned it, as all his predecessors had. Earned it thoroughly, and with prejudice. The position had stayed vacant since his fall from the Bridge, a fact that had not escaped Odin’s notice.

“I am the All-Father.” The repetition sounded almost foolish as he spoke it to the woman who had been at his side for millennia. “I cannot go back on my word. I cannot show weakness. You know this.”

She stepped toward him at last, reaching out a hand to rest it on his cheek. Her smile was kind. “I do, but there is no weakness to be shown. Not to anyone who doesn’t already know. There are few who even know that Loki returned, and fewer still that know his punishment or his crime.” A shadow passed over her face at the word, but she seemed to shake it off and continued. “And most of _those_ have altered memories. The truth can stay hidden, as it already has. Allow Loki his magic. Allow Thor this gift to his brother. Do nothing.”

Odin stifled a laugh at the sudden thought of Thor in the council chamber. _Do something_ , he’d said, and now to hear the opposite from his wife, mere hours later, began to give a strange clarity to the confusion that had plagued him since the dreams had started months before. The ones about which he had never been able to speak. He regarded Frigga curiously, another idea flowering in his mind.

“And if I do not allow it?”

Her voice was sure and strong. “It will be as I said. Loki will leave. His brother will go with him. You will lose both your sons in a single moment, along with the allies that only they can bring, and your House… _our_ House will fall.”

Odin’s eye narrowed slightly. “You have seen this?”

“No.” A spark of gold flared in her eyes, and her brow knit. “But you have, I think.”

He ignored the statement for the moment, pressing on and hoping to keep the momentum that he had built in remembering. Visions hovered at the edge of his mind.  

“His allies. The Midgardian, and the… whatever it is.”

Memory grew stronger by the second.

_\- “And if the boy returns?”_

_“Only the boy? Oh, Son of Bor. You’re a far greater fool than we feared.” -_

“Her name,” Frigga corrected softly, “is Aeslin. She is his beloved, and the boy is his best friend.”

“And to keep these... potential allies, I must stomach treason. Betrayal.” He scoffed, shoving images of both Thor and the Witches from his mind. “A high price indeed for two creatures unproven on the battlefield.”

“And if that’s the only place you can think to put them,” replied his wife, matching his tone with a twist of her lip, “then _you_ , son of Bor, are a greater fool than I took you for.”

***

The afternoon wore on, sunlight shifting across the warm stone floor of Freyr’s council chamber. Those present sat ringed around the large, circular table; Odin’s and Freyr’s seats were raised ever so slightly in deference to their positions as those leading the proceedings, but aside from that, all were considered equal.

So far, Frigga and Odin had done most of the talking. Not the complete truth, as they had agreed before they had ever set foot on Alfheim. It was too dangerous, even now. There were too many questions, too many loose ends. Odin kept himself still, aware that even the slightest sign of nervousness or lack of interest might be noticed at best, misconstrued at worst.

It was difficult to keep his thoughts under control as his wife spoke of the events that had led up to the aborted battle on the beach, and Byleistr’s death. She used Thor’s account as best she could, the rattled, disjointed one that they had dragged from him in the hours after he’d returned to Midgard with Loki and the other strays in tow.

 _Thor_.

Words teased the edge of his mind; the conversation with Frigga in their rooms had played through his thoughts over and over throughout the long afternoon.

 _It is treason._ _Betrayal._

And Thor was not the only one. His mind went back to those last moments on Jotunheim, scrambling to leave in response to a sudden, broken Vision that had come upon Frigga like a thunderclap. He had trusted her Sight, had pulled them all from the castle of ice without a thought by calling the Bridge into the courtyard, and they had been gone in seconds.

He’d been greeted with chaos on the other end: Loki dead, or nearly so, on the floor of the Observatory with his creature covered in blood and guarding him with all the ferocity of a sparrow. Thor carrying a mortal boy, of all things, face white and hammer missing. That sight alone had troubled Odin almost more than finding Loki in Heimdall’s chamber; scattered bits of his dream had flickered through his mind, Thor missing a hand and a shattered hammer. The fear and anger had propelled him toward his son, but Frigga had shoved him aside on her way to her children, and Odin’s ire had found another target.

Another betrayal.

_Heimdall stands serenely upon his roost, seemingly impervious to the confusion around him. He does not flinch at the rage in the All-Father’s face, and Odin does not know whether to be impressed or furious._

_“What is the meaning of this?” he hisses, steely gaze pinning the Guardian in place._

_“Your son was in danger. He called for aid; I did as he asked, as I would do for any in the royal household.”_

_“You know full well what I mean. He was banished and remains so. How dare you defy my word?”_

_The Watcher looks at him then, golden eyes narrowing. “My loyalty is to the House of Odin,” he replies. “To the seated king. Thor was acting in your stead during your work on Jotunheim, whether he knew the reason or not. My king called, and I answered, as is my duty.”_

_Odin feels himself going white with rage. “The House of Odin. To Thor. Not to Loki, and certainly not to the others.” His voice catches on the last word; another had nearly wormed its way free, but there were too many that might hear._

_Heimdall lifts his head a little but does not answer the All-Father. He speaks to Thor instead. “Your friends live,” he says without even turning around, and Odin sees relief spreading beneath the panic on Thor’s face as he clutches the mortal to him for a brief second before handing him over to the healers. The All-Father can barely stomach the sight; it reminds him too strongly of a campaign centuries ago, and another body in Thor’s arms. This is not the first time Loki has been dragged home, but it_ is _the first time that Heimdall has defied him._

Odin hadn’t immediately recognized the power that had shattered the wards around the healer’s wing, but that in itself gave him all the information he needed. The girl. Loki’s pet. A creature all but built by the Bifrost, by Odin’s own magic.

But that was not the worst of it. 

He’d been shocked when Frigga had called forth the Norns’ own words, wondering how she knew. His blood went cold at a sudden memory: Skuld standing in the center of the weaving room.

_“You’ve just missed your wife.”_

Frigga had seen the Norns.

_“Ever have our sons’ future been clouded, and not only to your sight.”_

Understanding flooded through him. Perhaps she had taken Loki. Perhaps she had taken both of them. He glanced over at her, wondering why she had never said anything about it.

_“God of lies. Where do you think he learned it?”_

He shoved down the thought almost as soon as it surfaced. This was not the time. Frigga finished her tale at last, and as she leaned back and took a sip of her wine, Freyr thoughtfully tapped his stylus on the stack of notes he’d made.

“You say they attacked Midgard?” he asked after a long moment, voice thoughtful.

“Yes,” Frigga answered simply. “They abandoned negotiations under pretense in order to mount their attack; we believe they discovered that my son was alive and wished to exact vengeance.”

A faint scoff from somewhere a few seats down; Odin glanced over and gave Sif a warning look. Freyr also looked at her with an unreadable expression before turning back to Frigga.

“And you’re certain Byleistr was the one killed.”

“Yes,” repeated the Queen.

They hadn’t been certain at first, not entirely, but that had been the fear from the start. They had teased as much as they could from Loki’s pet; it had taken far longer than Odin had thought it would, given Frigga’s professed rapport with the girl. Had the giant she killed looked different? _Perhaps_ , was all she’d said. _I can't be sure, and I don't much care._

Careless words indeed from a creature that may have started a war the likes of which hadn’t been seen in centuries. Heimdall had confirmed the loss later, and only after the Jotun had apparently returned to their own realm. He had not yet determined how they were traveling between worlds; few things escaped the Watcher’s notice, and this one was more than troubling. It was dangerous.

“Leaving Helblindi on the throne, then, provided he still lives.”

“We believe he does,” Frigga replied in that same calm voice. “There is no reason to think otherwise. There is also no reason to think that he will not avenge his brother’s death, but he is… unpredictable.”

Freyr sat forward again, resting his chin on steepled fingers. “Which leads us here. You’ve come to ask for aid. For allies in a war that has yet to be declared.”

“It will be.” Odin’s tone was flat.

“So you say,” came the smooth reply, “and should that happen, we will certainly come to your aid. _Should_ it happen. I do not see the wisdom in girding myself for a battle that might not come to pass. You stated that you had been in negotiations with the Jotun. What’s to say that they will not wish to continue those talks?”

Odin did his best not to stare at Freyr, but Frigga spoke.

“It is not impossible,” she agreed, “but even you will admit that it is quite unlikely.”

One of the older members of Freyr’s council shrugged. “Besides, if war comes, you bear the most powerful weapon in the known realms. Use that.”

Those present glanced at Gungnir, carefully couched behind Odin’s chair.

“Not what I meant,” continued the elf, and Odin went cold.

“The Bifrost is not a weapon. It is not meant for that purpose.”

“Which doesn’t mean it _hasn’t_ been used for that purpose. Surely you’ve heard the rumors that circulated after your son’s disappearance.”

 _Your son_.

“I have heard all sorts of _rumors_ ,” the All-Father replied. “Some interesting, some not. The fact remains that the Bifrost is not to be used as a weapon. Those treaties were signed long ago, by our fathers’ fathers, and they remain in force.”

“On pain of death.”

Odin nodded.

 _Execution_. _The only punishment suitable for the crime. The victims almost did not matter. The crime was the use itself, and always had been._

_But execution would have been too easy. He had wanted it. Asked for it, in his own way. Death after learning what he was would have been a mercy. A gift Odin could not give, so he’d found something worse. Far worse._

_It had seemed the more merciful choice on the surface, and by acting on it, it appeared he had listened to the entreaties of his wife. His son. The once-mortal. And listen he had._

_Ironic that the girl-turned-witch had given Odin the idea to spare Loki’s life. A fate worse than death, if only she had known. He wondered how Loki would feel knowing that her words had cemented his fate. Her fault that he had been banished. Would he have allowed himself to be so thoroughly seduced? Or had the creature bewitched him so insidiously that even the Liesmith had never seen it coming? Regardless, he was hers now. A war prize, a weapon, a tool, stolen from beneath the All-Father’s very nose._

_Unexpected at best. Disastrous at worst._

_A broken throne room loomed in his vision. Blood spreading across Frigga’s bodice. Thor blind and crippled._

“-all remains in force,” Freyr was saying, eyes stern on the man who had spoken of the Bridge as a weapon. Odin casually snapped his attention back to the Lord of Alfheim, almost thankful for the interruption. “The treaties regarding the Bifrost. Our allegiance to Asgard. Should it come to war, Alfheim will answer.”

He leaned forward a fraction. “But hear me, All-Father. I wish to make myself perfectly clear on this. We will come to your aid if war is declared by Jotunheim. _Not_ by anyone else, including Asgard. Our ties to some of the other realms are threads at best, and therefore any action we take must only be in answer to an attack or declaration. We _will_ not be the aggressor.” His voice was quiet but firm. “We rise in defense of our allies, as per the treaty, and not a moment before.”

Odin nodded. Less than he had wanted, but as much as he had expected. “Agreed,” he said, “and let us hope that it does not come to that.”

“To hope, then,” Freyr said, raising his goblet at last. “And if not hope, then glory.”

***

The meetings on Vanaheim took much the same form. They expressed concern about their ability to protect themselves in the event of a full-fledged war; the Marauder invasions just after the fall of the Bifrost had extracted a heavy toll. There was not much they could offer, a fact Odin well knew, but allies were allies.

“We are grateful for the assistance Asgard provided,” the chief minister said with a nod to Sif.

“Ours was not the only blood spilled in our forests and plains, and we owe Asgard a debt that we might not be able to repay. At least, not in full.”

“There is no need to make your people suffer further,” Frigga answered kindly. “We understand your predicament and will hold your help no lower than any other. Your honor remains whole.”

Their stay was just as long as the one on Alfheim had been, as tradition dictated, but if the gifts and stores Asgard provided were richer than those given to Freyr, Odin did not quibble. Scars from the invasion and ensuing battles were still evident in the landscape, and the corpse of the monster Thor had slain had been carefully gathered. The pile of rubble stood in a clearing, a monument to those who had fallen that lay directly in Odin’s line of sight where he sat at the negotiating table. Its placement was no accident; of that he was sure.

***

Evening fell across the last of their visit; Odin stood looking across the landscape with hands behind his back.

“Not as bad as it could have been,” Frigga observed, taking a sip of her drink, “but less than I’d hoped.”

“They will be enough,” replied Sif. “They have been before.”

“Before, yes. Things have changed a bit, and we have too little intelligence on Helblindi’s course of action. I would much prefer to have a little more support among other the other realms. There are too many variables.”

Another shrug from the warrior goddess as she leaned forward to retrieve a piece of fruit. “There have been variables before, and we prevailed.”

“Still.” Frigga’s voice was thoughtful, its tone familiar.

“No.” Odin’s voice cut across the warm glow from Vanaheim’s rings; he could feel both pairs of eyes on his back, but he spoke to Frigga. “We will not.”

“They would make powerful allies.”

“They are reckless,” Odin snapped. “Irresponsible. Fractured. Easily swayed, and easily corrupted by powers they cannot hope to understand. They proved as much in their use of the Tesseract.”

“There is wisdom among them.”

A harsh exhale through his nose, little better than a scoff. “One Midgardian might be wise. Seven billion are not.”

“We have two,” Frigga was gentle but relentless, “and there are more like them.”

“We have _one_ ,” Odin corrected, “and another who is unpredictable as the sea.”

“And twice as powerful.”

“Their loyalty is to Midgard and to the god of lies, in that order. You honestly think to trust them?”

“Thor does.” Sif’s voice was almost unreadable, a strange mix of distaste, anger and what might have been curiosity.

“Thor is not without lapses in judgment.”

She snorted gently. “Agreed, my king, but it is something.”

“We are not bringing Midgard into this. It is not their war.”

“The Jotun attacked on their land.”

“They will never admit as much. It will be buried like so many other things, and besides, the giants were seeking Loki. A stranger upon their shores.”

There was a hush of fabric as Frigga shrugged, and Odin glanced over his shoulder.

“As you say,” was her reply, “but you have been given a gift, All-Father. It would behoove you to use it.”

His eye narrowed as he realized she hadn’t spoken the words aloud, and on further thought, he realized that he wasn’t entirely sure Frigga had spoken them. Sif looked between them, a little perplexed.

“We leave Midgard at large out of this,” Odin finally said. “Do as you please with Loki’s creature; you will in any case.”

“And the boy?”

A long, quiet sigh as another piece in the puzzle slammed home.

“Leave him to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday, y'all! Feedback appreciated. Again, sorry for the time between postings. <3 Love you all!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Like a wild river  
>  In a hurricane  
> Like a fallen empire  
> I will rise again_

Even with his magic restored, Loki’s healing proceeded at a crawl, frustrating him beyond words. He had tried to call magic as soon as he could after returning from the Vault, tried to force it to knit sinew and restore bone. His body had responded by spiking a dangerously high fever and sending him into a nightmare-soaked sleep for almost a full day. That had earned him a stern reprimand from both Aeslin and Eir. The latter had cautioned him about pushing himself too soon, and Aeslin had merely fixed him with a baleful green eye while the healer had seen to her lip; Loki had split it with a lucky shot as she’d tried to soothe him awake.

He’d spent the time that they had the room to themselves trying his best to kiss away the tiny white scar left after Eir’s ministrations, and she’d had to gently bat him away several times in order to finish giving him nearly the same lecture the healer had.

“Not even you can heal in a day,” she said, narrowing her eyes as she lay next to him on the cot; she carefully avoided putting pressure anywhere near his body, much to Loki’s dismay. “I heard all about Sleipnir and your ear. You told Tony that it took forever to heal. This is _far_ worse, so why should it be any faster?”

He lifted his arm with some difficulty and dropped it onto her hip, allowing the weight to keep her pinned in place long enough to steal most of a kiss. She pulled away a little too soon, wanting an answer, and he responded by humming petulantly and dragging himself dramatically closer to her. He followed it up with a deliberately pathetic smile, and she sighed.

“You’re intolerable.”

“That I am,” he readily agreed. “Why so surprised? I thought we’d determined that years ago.”

The word struck him. _Years._ It had barely been two years by Midgard’s calendar, less than a heartbeat of time, but it was still accurate. A mere flicker in the slow march of centuries, and yet he felt he had known her far longer. He smiled again, softer this time, as he realized that although he had been counting the moments in his brutally shortened life, there might now be a chance to be by her side for far, far longer.

Provided, of course, that he healed. That he _could_ heal. He strengthened the cantrip he’d managed to string along the edges of his wound a tiny bit, but even that drained him. He needed proper rest. Time to refresh his skills, to dig deep enough to evict whatever was keeping him from healing. To search for information, whether in his books or those in the libraries. To gather reagents if required, and for that, he needed out of this room.

Aeslin hadn’t said anything in answer to him; she merely brushed fingers along his cheek as she looked at him. He wasn’t sure if she could tell when he drew magic the way he knew when Frigga did. He hadn’t bothered to ask her in the long days and weeks before his banishment _how_ she could tell what he was doing; she wouldn’t have told him in any case. He wondered what she saw now, changed as she was from what she’d been.

“You shouldn’t be on your side,” she said after a long moment spent studying him. “Who knows what sort of damage you’re doing?”

“I’m fine,” he answered, perhaps a little too quickly. “Trust me.”

One brow went up as the trace of a smirk came to her lips. “Trust you. As I seem to recall, that’s what got me into this mess in the first place.”

Loki gave her a wounded look as he smothered what might have been a smile. “Raven to Jack’s fifth. Critical damage, more than likely,” he said. “Well done, though points off for attacking the walking wounded. Quite dishonorable of you.”

“Walking.” She snorted ever so delicately. “Is _that_ what you call it? Because Thor and I agree it was actually more like dragging a six foot four wicker man made entirely of overcooked noodles. There was very little _walk_ ing on your end, your Royal Gracefulness.”

A gasp. “ _Again_ you wound me, wench.”

“For your own good,” she returned sternly, “and stop trying to change the subject.”

He flopped slowly onto his back, doing his level best not wince as his insides caught up with the rest of his body. “Not trying. Doing.”

He could practically hear her eyes rolling. “If you say so.” She must have caught the flash of pain that crossed his his face, because her voice softened a little. “Do you want me to fetch Eir?”

A shake of his head. “She’ll return with Parker soon enough. Not to worry.”

“Do you want to rest?”

“Yes, and in my own bed. The healer and I need to have another talk. Now that…” he stopped himself at the last moment. “Now that things have changed, there is far more I can do on my own. It will go much faster without interruptions, no matter how well-intentioned they are; I just need a bit of quiet. Privacy.”

He didn’t finish the original thought, unsure if anyone else was listening. They had a tacit agreement, one they had brought Parker into early on, that nothing would be said of the restoration of Loki’s magic. Thor had enough to worry about, and none of them wanted to put the healer in the difficult position of knowing too much.

 _Plausible deniability._ It was a phrase he had heard from both Phil and Aeslin more than once. Loki still wasn’t sure whether or not the healer realized what had happened. She knew that something had changed, of that Loki was sure, and he was also positive that she was well aware the wards were gone, but her behavior had remained the same. Eir had always been her own creature, though, and her loyalty to the All-Father was passing at best. All were the same in her rooms, from gods to stable boys, and Loki had never been more grateful for that fact than now.

“Parker’s doing well,” he continued, “and I’m sure he’s looking for any excuse to get out of here, too. I know for a fact that Fandral’s promised him a tour of the menageries once Parker can walk four laps around the room without stopping. He’s almost there. Might even do it this evening, if I know him half as well as I think I do. Gods, that boy’s tenacious.”

“Couldn’t possibly be one of the reasons the two of you get along so well,” came her reply as she gently stroked her fingers along the bandages Forseti had wrapped him in earlier in the day.

He felt the twinges of fever gathering at the edges of his muscles, heard whispers flickering along his spine, and he stifled a sigh. Another long night coming, and Loki resigned himself to it as best he could. Her fingers ghosted up his chest and along his jaw; she knew the signs as well, and she inclined her head to the collection of bottles on the bedside table.

“Do you want some of the… whatever that is? I always forget what she calls it. It seems to help, though.”

Loki shook his head. “It also makes it too hard to wake up,” he replied, reaching for what words he could as they merrily skittered out of reach. “I’ll take my chances.”

He reconsidered at a sudden pain in his head that echoed through the hole in his chest. A sigh as he determined that someone else could be the hero today. “Half a dose, then,” he allowed, trying not to grit his teeth as the familiar darkness clawed into place, “and please hurry.”

Aeslin was off the bed in a moment; the small, warm dip that showed where she’d been lying barely had time to settle before she returned. She helped him sit up just enough to drink from the cup in her hand, the draught cool on his tongue and tasting faintly of rain and moss.

Settling back against the pillows, he watched as she replaced the stopper in the iridescent carafe and carefully set the empty tumbler next to it. “I can do that, you know,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to do all this for me.” He caught her fingers in his, twining them gently together.

A faint smile touched her lips but didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I know, love,” she finally replied, free hand teasing absently through the curls near his earlobe. “I want to.”

“Well, not that I don’t appreciate being waited on hand and foot, but this is a little different than your normal bedside manner.”

Her face took on a stoic, slightly defiant look. It was a look he was familiar with, and one he loved - except when it meant that she was stonewalling him. Loki lifted his hand to her mouth, gently wiggling her bottom lip. “Come on. Out with it. I know it’s in there.”

“Do you want me to stop? Force you to make your own sandwiches? Wash your own socks? I think we all know how that turns out.” Her voice was carefully light, and he moved his thumb just a fraction to keep her from nipping the end. Eir’s draught was beginning to work, but he fought off the urge to drift into sleep. Instead, he ruthlessly kept her gaze as he matched her tone.

“No. I don’t want to you stop. I _do_ want you to tell me why you’re doing it.”

He felt a tiny muscle in her jaw flutter beneath his fingers. “You know why.”

Loki stroked his thumb along her jaw, slow and soothing as he studied her face. Searched for a crack, any weakness in the armor that she’d pulled around herself in the days since their arrival on Asgard and since his magic had been restored. It was strong, almost as flawless as the shields she’d built after Coulson’s death, but it wasn’t perfect. Armor rarely was. He found a spot and pushed.

“Even Valkyries put down their swords, _elskan_ ,” he said softly. “Occasionally. Usually in order to punch someone, get drunk or… well, other things. Possibly all three at once.” His lip twitched slightly. Damn Eir and her draught; it always made him feel a little drunk, and this was hardly the time for a loose tongue. He’d come to the conclusion long ago that she’d only created it as a way to curb the princes’ arrogance, and it never failed. He forged on. “But they do. Tell me, love. Put down your sword and tell me.”

She bit her lip gently, and as he worried it out once more with a stern look, her resolve began to crumble.

“It’s not weakness,” he told her, echoing the words she’d told him time and again.

She shut her eyes.

“Because I can.” Her fingers tightened in his; he felt the same ache that he’d had in the helicarrier as they’d talked soon after he’d fumbled through the confession of his feelings for her. The tone of her voice was the same; exhaustion and resignation, but this time with a faint, tired hope. “Because you’re still here. Somehow you’re still here and I’m terrified of the moment when you might not be anymore and I just… I need to. I need to because I can. For as long as I can.”

He lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him.

“You wouldn’t let me tell you then,” he said, tugging on the thread of memory. “I’m telling you now, Aeslin. I’m not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.”

“No promises,” she replied, shaking her head. “You can’t-”

Feeling Eir’s potion taking a stronger hold by the second, Loki stopped her argument as only he could, yanking her off balance and into a kiss so fierce, so clumsy that his adolescent self would have been horrified. He could feel her scrambling for a moment, doing her best to keep from bracing herself on him, and he wound his fingers into her hair, pulling her still closer. She responded, her armor tumbling to pieces around them as she let go at last and gave herself over to the kiss. His chest throbbed, his head spun as past and present collided in his skull, but he clung to Aeslin tightly, crushing her body against his.

Loki’s breath was ragged when he broke the kiss, but his voice was sure as he cupped his hand around the back of Aeslin’s neck, stroking his thumb below her ear.

“Not a promise, love,” he said. “A fact.”

***

Silvertongue or no, however, it still took him the better part of two weeks to talk Eir into releasing him from her care. She had dismissed his first attempts immediately, as he knew she would, but it was a dance they had been doing for centuries. This was far from the first time he’d ended up in the healer’s wing, though hopefully it would be the last. He had a home elsewhere now, with everything he could want or ever need close at hand, and he was eager to return to it. The more he spoke to Thor and the others, though, the four of them talking far into the night amid the soft glow of lanterns, the more he realized that return might be a long time coming.

After several unsuccessful negotiations with the healer, Loki decided it was time for stronger ammunition. Eir’s devotion to Odin was given almost begrudgingly, due in some part to his place as All-Father and moreso because of her long-standing relationship with the All-Mother. She had been Frigga’s companion and friend since girlhood, and Eir’s loyalty was first and foremost to her.

And by extension, to her sons. Few could stand up to the healer and get away with it, and none could stand longer than Frigga’s boys. It was time to get Thor involved.

The heir apparent had little time to spare, stretched as he was between throne room and healer’s wing in the All-Father’s absence. Odin and Frigga had not yet returned from their diplomatic visits, a fact that Loki found surprising and more than a little disturbing. The All-Father had to know that something had happened. He had to know that his precious wards had fallen, not to mention the Vault break-in. Thor wasn’t _that_ stealthy.

He _was_ calculating, though, in his own way, as evidenced by the wide grin he got when Loki confessed that he needed his help in order to convince Eir to cut him loose.

“Just to be sure,” Thor said, balancing Mjolnir on one finger as he sat in the chair next to Loki’s bed, “you do mean charm her? I certainly can’t _order_ her to do anything; I’m not even sure Father can do that, and I’m hesitant to declare a trial by combat.”

Loki snorted. “You’d lose anyway,” he retorted. “She’d be on you like a shot, or am I the only one who remembers the orchard?”

That earned him an answering chuckle, and Loki could almost see the memory lifting his brother’s spirits. The throne did suit Thor, and suited him well, but he was still learning how to best serve his people without exhausting himself. It was good to see him smiling; Loki had missed it.

“ _Every_ one remembers the orchard,” agreed Thor, “especially once Bragi wrote that damned song about it.”

“Gods, but that was catchy. It was the _hand_ motions, though; you have to admit that’s what sold it.”

“Agreed.” Thor absently flipped the hammer from his index finger, catching the haft and letting Mjolnir fall gently to the floor. “So. Subterfuge it is. I might have a few tricks, as well. I’ve opened up your rooms and had some others prepared just for this occasion.” He raised his hand soothingly at the expression on Loki’s face.  “ _I_ opened them, brother. Just to air them out. No one else has been in them. The servants only worked on the adjoining chambers.”

Settling back with a bit of resignation, Loki sighed. “Could be worse, I suppose.”

“Mother had the room sealed after you… left,” came the reply, “so they’re not bad at all. You’ll have them freshened up in no time, provided we can spring you from this prison.”

“Sooner rather than later,” Loki clarified.

“Also agreed. I have no idea when Mother and Father are returning, and I want you out and about before that happens.” At Loki’s look, he shrugged. “Far easier to ask forgiveness than permission, and if you’re seen around the palace, all the better. There are far too many rumors already. Even I’m hearing them. We need you out in the open. Something is coming; we both know it, and our house must at least appear solid. For now. We’ll figure the rest out later.”

“Witnesses. You’re putting him in quite the difficult position, Thor.”

“He put himself there.” A stern look at Loki. “Just as you did.”

“I think it’s a little different,” Loki replied, but even as he said the words, a feeling of guilt and something else flickered through him.

A shrug. “As you say.” Thor leaned back his chair, arms folded, legs stretched out and looking every bit a king. He studied the ceiling, his voice casual. “It all used to be so simple, you know? So much clearer. Put an enemy in front of me; I knew just what to do, and if I didn’t, I’d ask you. The House of Odin would stand forever, strong as a wall against the sea.” A slow, sharp sigh. “Until suddenly it wasn’t anymore.”

Loki watched him for a moment, then chose his words carefully. “That almost sounds like treason, Thor.”

“Not if it’s the truth,” his brother said thoughtfully, “though I’m not even sure there _is_ truth these days, or if I’d even recognize it.” He looked at Loki, blue eyes catching the warm sunlight. “He lied to me, too, you know. For just as long.”

A silence stretched between them, soft and pensive. At last, Loki spoke.

“So what now?”

Thor turned an ear toward the doorway, where the click of Parker’s cane was becoming audible. “Now,” he said, the grin returning, “we break you out. Again.”

***

Thor helped his brother sit further up on the pillows, and Loki smoothed his hair as best he could. For a brief moment, he considered sending a tiny thread of seidr through his fingers to settle the more recalcitrant strands; the thought drew a bit of a smirk. Loki knew full well that the treacherous little curls at the nape of his neck would stay. They always did these days, no matter what he did, and Aeslin loved them more than she would ever admit to his face. He couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing her, so he ran his hands through the worst of the mess without so much as a charm. It would be a waste of energy in any case, something that would be better used against Eir.

In the end, however, it was Parker who swayed her. The healer listened bemusedly to both princes’ arguments as she examined the bandages that swathed Loki’s torso. Parker and Aeslin sat on the edge of the young man’s bed, and the boy thoughtfully rolled the head of his walking stick between his palms as he listened to the banter between the healer and her charge. His eyes flicked between the pair and the view outside the window, dimmed slightly due to the bright afternoon sunlight.

“It’s been quite some time,” Loki was saying in a reasonable voice. “Surely you’ve got other patients. Other concerns. What about that herbal you were working on with Ingrid? You’ll want time for that.”

“Nearly done,” she replied absently, poking his ribs a fraction too forcefully and smirking at Loki’s strangled reaction. “I’ve been told that there’s someone I need to talk to when it comes to the binding, though. His work’s quite impressive. Got to look at a sample for a whole three minutes before Sindri snatched it back.”

“Ah. A trade, then. Is that what you want? You should have asked for that _days_ ago; I could have gotten the initial sketches started. Rough at best in this light. It’s much better on the other side of the palace, you know.”

“You don’t say.”

“You don’t even have to take my word for it. I mean, god of lies and all that; you really should know better. Ask Aeslin - she’s the artist. A veritable _treasure_ trove of practical knowledge, not to mention a knack for schematics that would make the very angels weep.”

Eir gave a noncommittal noise as she pressed on Loki’s shoulder blade, pushing him forward so she could turn her attention to his back.

“Not that I don’t appreciate all that you’ve done,” he continued without missing a beat. “On the contrary, I’ll be in your debt for _ages_.”

“And will you be talking that entire time?” she asked without rancor, “or just long enough to get your way?”

“As I said. It’s been days. Weeks? I’ve lost track. I just don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

“Your welcome, or your patience?”

He gave her a winning smile, made slightly awkward by his angle of attack. “You mean I have to pick just one?”

Loki saw the tilt of her head, the line of her jaw, and he steeled himself for the denial he knew was probably coming. It might not be today after all, and he wasn’t sure he could survive another night crammed in the narrow bed with Aeslin like spoons in a drawer.

He was surprised then, when it wasn’t the healer who spoke. It was Parker.

“Do you know there are 473 distinct types of flora and fauna in the Royal Menagerie?” he asked off-handedly. “Fandral brought me the catalog. The almanac. Whatever the hell you call it up here. Menu?”

He glanced at Aeslin; at her answering shrug, he turned wistfully back to the window.

“Almost five hundred species from every Realm in the cosmos, and here I sit. An astrobiologist. A man at the prime of his career, wasting away less than half a mile from something no Midgardian has seen since the Bronze Age. The _Bronze_ Age.”

“Actually,” Thor supplied helpfully, “it was probably after that. I believe it-”

“We’re not talking about Aeslin.” The young man’s misinterpretation was deliberate, as clearly evidenced by the poorly-hidden wink he sent Thor’s way. Eir caught it, as Parker intended, smothering a grin as she allowed Loki to relax against his pillows once more. “Earlier than that. Long before we have the technology we do now. The appreciation for other Realms that we have now.” He leaned forward slightly, the end of his walking stick tapping idly on the floor. “Fandral promised me a tour of the grounds if I managed four laps. And I think I might have… how many did I do today? Three?” He looked at Aeslin again.

“Six,” she replied.

Parker gave her a surprised look pulled straight from a Gilbert and Sullivan production. “ _Six_ , you say?” He shifted back to Eir, who was watching him with fond exasperation. “Well I’ll be damned. _Six._ Too bad I’m still stuck in here. Why, if I were released, I would be able to fill a lifelong dream that not only belongs to me, but to _every_ exobiologist and astrobotanist on my entire planet. All _twelve_ of us. Give me a pencil and a sketchpad, and I could send my field forward by decades. Centuries. It’s not just for me, Lady Eir.” He held his hands dramatically in front of him; Thor ducked out of his cane’s way just in time. “It’s for _Science_.”

Eir regarded the young man, who gave her a winning smile and wiggled his fingers for dramatic emphasis. After a moment, she spoke.

“How long do you plan to keep that up?”

“Musical theater,” he responded with another rapid shake of the wrists. “Jazz hands. I can do this all day.”

A light chuckle; Loki held his breath. Finally, Eir inclined her head to the door.

“Go on, then. And take the Trickster with you.”

Parker whooped as he struggled to his feet and stumbled to the healer, wrapping her in a hug. She allowed it for a brief moment, surprising Loki, then helped the boy stand straight again. “It’s been raining,” she said, tossing a look at Thor. “Watch your step in the outer halls, and if _either_ of you gets so much as a nosebleed, you’ll be back here before you can blink. Am I clear?”

“Perfectly,” Thor said as he and Aeslin moved to help Loki stand. Eir surveyed Loki critically. “Would you like a chair?”

A smirk. “And ruin the illusion?”

She shook her head with a sigh, then turned back to Parker. “This doesn’t get you out of your sessions. I expect to see you tomorrow, as usual.”

“Our thanks, Lady Eir,” Thor said, his voice barely strained under the weight of his brother. “You are truly a queen among healers.”

“Go, son of Odin, before I change my mind,” she retorted kindly. Her eyes flicked to Loki, who was already beginning to tremble from the strain of standing, even supported as he was. Her smile held a bit of affection mixed with long-suffering. “I’d take the back stairs, if I were you. It’s quicker.”

***

It was nearly sunset, and the halls were deserted; most of the palace denizens were at one feast or another. The four staggered gracefully down the back corridors. Loki pulled up a shield of sorts, a thin illusion to block the group from all but the most prying eyes. It was weak at best, wavering whenever he lost the least bit of focus, but it was enough for the time being. Aeslin kept her eyes carefully forward, avoiding the double vision Loki’s tricks invariably caused. Parker followed a step behind her; the young man did his best not to gawk at the architecture that soared above him, and Loki realized that it was the boy’s first true sight of the palace. With any luck, he’d soon get a better view, and one that didn’t consist of just the servants’ quarters.

Loki was exhausted by the time they reached his chambers; sweat dampened his hairline, and he wanted nothing more than to rest, but his body stopped in front of the doors so quickly that Parker thumped into his back. The young man ricocheted off with a curse, nearly losing his own tenuous balance until Aeslin twisted from beneath Loki’s arm and grabbed him. Loki barely noticed the confusion. Instead, he stood frozen in the hallway, staring at his own door as though he’d never seen it before, and he understood exactly why Aeslin had never set foot in her apartment after their brief visit to pick up the few essentials she’d needed.

_The man who lives here is dead and buried, and he has been for years._

He glanced down at Aeslin, and she looked back with an unwavering expression. Another flash of memory - standing paralyzed on SHIELD’s landing pad, unable to step out of the circle created when he’d been banished. Her expression was the same now as it had been in that moment, and as before, he used her strength, her focus, to force himself to move. He leaned forward slightly, put his hand on the simply-carved, dark wood and pushed. The doors swung silently open into rooms Loki had been sure he’d never see again.

Everything was the same, except it wasn’t. The furniture, the tapestries, everything was exactly as he’d left it. The place seemed alien to him somehow, and he felt as though he was intruding as he allowed Thor to help him to a chaise near a window in the antechamber. His brother dropped a sturdy basket with handles next to Loki’s perch; glancing into it, he saw a stack of clean linens for the bed. Thor truly had kept his brother’s sanctum protected, as best he could, and Loki was grateful.

_-”Things change.”-_

_-An easy shrug. “Some things do not.”-_

Parker studied the room with appreciation. “It suits you,” he said after a moment. “I mean, of course it does; it’s yours, but you know what I mean. Even if I had no idea who lived here, I would know. You’re all over this place.”

“Was,” Loki corrected gently. “Not so much anymore.”

“I guess,” came the reply, “but you’ve got a style. It shows up in your flat, too, but not so much as it does here.”

Loki felt a sudden stab of longing for his home in London, with its clean lines and warm kitchen and traces of Aeslin everywhere he looked, but he smiled. “A thousand years is a long time to build an aesthetic,” he said airily. “I couldn’t be bothered to change.”

Parker grinned back as Thor put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. He spoke to Parker, but his eyes were kind as he looked at Loki, and in that moment, Loki knew that his brother also understood.

“Would you like to see your rooms?” he asked, and Parker’s head swiveled around.

“ _My_ rooms?”

A chuckle. “What, you didn’t think we’d make you sleep on my brother’s couch, did you?”

“Well, I mean, I maybe - hold up. Did you say rooms? With an s? More than one?”

Thor steered him back toward the hallway. “You’re a guest of royalty, Parker. Blood brother to sons of the All-Mother. Of _course_ you get more than one; this is Asgard, not one of Stark’s fish tanks.”

“Squid tank,” Parker amended, voice drifting in from the corridor. “They’re squid tanks, and _holy mother of what the actual-”_ His voice trailed off into wonder, and Loki grinned as he rested his hands on his stomach and closed his eyes, trying to settle back into the remnants of his old life, if only for a moment.

“I think he likes them,” he ventured, hearing Aeslin’s answering laugh as she sat on the edge of the chaise. He pulled her closer for a moment, reveling in the strangeness of having her in his arms, in these rooms. He decided that, given enough time, he might get used to it, but he much preferred what they already had. The thought stopped him for a moment.

_A fine way for a prince to think._

_A prince can think as he will,_ he answered. _I am no prince, and I am no god. I am Loki, and it is enough._

He awoke a long while later to a discreet knock on the door and felt Aeslin extricate herself from his arms to answer it. He opened his eyes to see a familiar rangy figure, and he pushed himself higher on the couch.

“Forseti!” he said, not bothering to hold back his joy at seeing his old friend. “It’s good to see you again, you magnificent bastard. It’s been too long.”

The other man strode forward, arm outstretched and a grin on his face. “Not to worry,” he said with a deep laugh. “I’ve seen more than enough of you to last me _quite_ some time, dear god of mischief and impossible bandage changes. Gods below, but you’re a disaster when you’re out. I’d forgotten how bad you can get.”

They clasped arms with an easy camaraderie, and Loki couldn’t manage to wipe the smile from his lips. “Well, then it was time you were reminded,” he laughed, “though I’m not sure which of us needed the lesson in humility.”

“We’ll call it even for now,” answered the tailor as he dropped a parcel on chaise next to Loki’s feet and turned to engulf Aeslin in a hug. “And how are you, my dear? Keeping him in line?”

“Trying, but I think it will get much harder now that he’s on the loose again.”

“Few people are able keep up with the Trickster,” Forseti agreed, “but I think you’re one of the rare breed than can. Or is it the other way around? Can he keep up with you?” His fingers flashed out, smacking Loki’s hand away from the parcel he’d been inspecting. “Paws off, you menace. Those aren’t for you.” At Loki’s petulant look, Forseti gave a deep laugh. “Stop, oh Prince I’ve Got A Whole Room Just For Tunics. You’ll break my heart. They wouldn’t fit, in any case; they’re hers.”

Loki raised a brow, matching Aeslin’s curious look. The tailor came over to the lounge, opening the large, soft package and rummaging though.

“I just missed you at the healer’s,” he said, voice muffled. “I certainly hope Loki had the sense to camouflage you, at least, you poor thing.” Forseti extracted a pile of clothing with a grin. “Nothing against you or the All-Mother, as you know, but it's been downright _painful_ to see what she's had you wearing. Besides, I must say it’s been more fun than it had any right to be to make these for you.” He laid out clothes, unashamedly using Loki’s legs as his display counter, and Loki allowed it with a laugh, glad to see his past and future so seamlessly blending together, at least in this moment.

“I wanted it to be a surprise, so I couldn’t very well ask you,” Forseti explained. “Couldn’t ask Lord Lanky, either, since he was having enough of a problem putting two words together. I had to turn to Thor, who was reduced to drawing what he meant; believe me when I tell you I haven’t laughed that hard in _decades_. Odin’s golden son has many talents. That isn’t one of them, and bless him for it a thousand times. He did his best to explain what you wore, though. Not Midgardians. You. He was very particular about the difference. I took the liberty of adapting his drawings a little.” A snort. “More than a little. Tell me what you think.”

A few pairs of simple pants in various sturdy fabrics. Black, dark green, deep brown, with subtle details along the seams. One pair that looked suspiciously like cargo pants, with pockets down the sides and the occasional loop. She tried those on first, lifting her frilly skirts to pirouette for Forseti as he checked the fit.

“Thor said the loops were for trowels? I didn’t understand what he meant. You don’t have the hands of a stonemason or a gardener.”

Aeslin laughed, the light sound like cool water in Loki’s ears. “Archaeologist. It’s a little different.” She padded back over to the tailor, taking the next piece of clothing. Unfolding it, she surveyed it for a moment before dissolving into helpless giggles. “Sweet Jerome on a bicycle. You made me a hoodie.”

“More than one, and _Norns_ , were they a delight,” the tailor admitted. “So different from what the nobles continue to ask of me, for which you have my thanks. I've been getting terribly bored.” He turned his back on her for a bit of privacy with a smile; she glanced at Loki, then at the window.

“You can see out,” he explained, “but none can see in. Standard procedure for the rooms on this side of the palace, or anywhere a royal sleeps. You’re safe from any prying eyes but mine.” He finished with a lascivious lift to his brows, and her lip quirked as she deliberately spun away from him and slipped the frothy dress she’d been wearing over her head. Loki fell silent, throat a little dry as he watched her study the jacket; he drank in the sight of her, from the sunkissed skin on her shoulders to the curve of her hip beneath her new pants. The lean muscles along her spine shifted as she loosened the front of the garment and pulled it on, covering her smooth, inked skin far too soon, and Loki stifled a sigh. She heard it; she must have, since she blew him a kiss over her shoulder, and he winked in return. Lacing the tunic as best she could, she turned to Forseti. Loki reluctantly dragged his attention away from her collarbone and back to the conversation.

“Is this boned?” she asked.

“In a way,” came the reply. “It’s lined for support as well as for protection. You’re consort to a prince, my dear, and that carries its own set of… design requirements, you might say. Your tunics have the same basic design, and every one of them will stop all but the most determined blade.” He turned to see her toying with the laces. “May I? There’s a trick to it.”

“Please.”

The tailor pointed out a few spots on the tunic. “Your fastenings are actually here, here and here. They’re hidden, and once you’ve gotten them where you want them, you won’t have to do it again. You make the day-to-day adjustment with the laces. Show as little or as much as you please.”

“As much, if you please,” Loki broke in, unable to help himself, and Aeslin snorted as she finished putting herself together.

“Beast,” she said.

“Siren.”

“Troll.”

“Succubus.”

“Kelpie.”

“Goddess.”

A grin. “Love you.”

A wider grin at the familiar game. “Loved you first.” Loki wiggled his foot against the parcel as he glanced at Forseti, who was looking at him as though he’d grown a second head. “I think you’ve missed something.”

Forseti shook his head slightly as if to clear it, then stepped forward. “Smallclothes. Under-tunics. A nightdress or two, and these.” He lifted a pair of boots from within the package. Knee height, leather, with laces, buckles, and just the right amount of heel. Loki had to admit that he was impressed. “Also these,” the tailor continued, tossing her a handful of brilliant color. “Socks. Thor was _quite_ insistent that you couldn’t have one without the other. I was to give these to you first.”

She dropped onto the edge of the bed and rolled up her pants to pull on what proved to be carefully designed socks with alternating stripes of cheerful blue and gold. The words _Thors_ and _Day_ stretched across the tips, and she wiggled her toes appreciatively. “Personalized, even,” she chuckled.

“Made them himself,” said the healer, to Loki’s surprise. “He said he needed to do something other than fret about his brother and punch people. He continues to surprise me, that boy. These last few years have changed both of you almost beyond recognition.”

Loki’s answering smile was a little awkward, but Forseti merely clapped him on the shoulder, then gave Aeslin another hug. “Let me know if anything needs altering. I need to go get someone-or-other dressed for something-or-other, but any page can bring me a message. I am at your disposal, first and foremost.”

“Thank you,” she responded, tightly returning the hug. “This means the world to me.”

“You are welcome, Aeslin Kindle. Welcome back to Asgard.”

***

_He wakes in the quiet pre-dawn hours; there is only a little light filtering around the draperies. They are both sprawled across the enormous bed like tigers in summer, reveling in the space that they’ve both been denied for so long. She and Thor had made his bed while Parker had gushed about his rooms and the amazing views. Soon after, Parker and his brother had retired to the boy’s rooms to talk; excited as he had been, Loki is sure that it had been hours before he had succumbed to sleep._

_He feels the pull of the simple leather cord around his neck and warm metal against his chest; the spell within the sigil has been doing its work, and he pushes himself off the sheets with less effort than he’s had to use in days. He is sure it is a combination of magic and most of a decent night’s sleep, and he is beyond grateful for both of them. Aeslin rests on the mattress next to him, one arm flung out and sleeping like the righteous dead. She wears an old shirt, one that hasn’t fit him in years, and one that she claimed as hers immediately upon finding it. A fond smile touches his lips as he traces his thumb along her cheekbone; she does not so much as twitch. Loki slips from the bed without a sound and makes his way slowly to the inner room that serves - served - as his workshop._

_There is no need to consult scrolls or grimoires; he already has a good idea of what he is looking for, and so he merely scratches a simple focusing circle on the ground with a stub of discarded chalk and lowers himself gently to the stone floor. He calls magic, and it comes to him quickly, like a faithful and eager hound that’s spent far too long in the kennels. It augments the innate seidr already flowing through his body, and he breathes it in for a long, quiet moment before turning inward._

_The damage is ghastly. There is no way other way to describe it, and if it is still this bad, he has no idea how many bargains with deities, Norns or other beings Eir had to make in order to keep him alive. A thought tickles at the edges of his mind, that perhaps she was not the one to make the deal, but before he can pin it down, the idea is gone, flickering away like a glittering fish. Much healing remains to be done, but it is no longer as impossible as it once seemed. He pushes further into his own body, surveying the jagged edges and softly glowing trails of magic that crisscross throughout the mess. The same eagerness is there; seidr and skill mingle, but they are held back. Something is slowing them down. He stops to think, hovering somewhere near his fifth rib until it comes to him._

_A battle on two fronts._

_Another dive, and another. He pushes himself into the very core of his being, where magic and matter meet and there is no distinguishing between the two. Time slows as he probes and digs, and at last, at last, he finds it._

_A trap._

You will not set foot on this realm again, nor on any other without my say.

 _The cognizance jolts him out of his trance, and he wakes with a gasp._ Odin doesn’t have to do a thing _, he realizes._ The work is already done.

_He hears his own voice._

The bridge was given a very specific purpose, and that purpose remains in force.

_He is not meant to be here. He never was, and now he cannot leave. Odin has left him no way out, and Loki idly wonders if the All-Father even remembers doing it. Immortality, snatched away again in an instant, or never regained at all._

_Two can play at this game, though, and while Odin may be the ruler of Asgard and all he sees, he has never_ once _beaten Loki at Goblin’s Teeth. He never had the guts for it, either taking pity on the boy or lacking the savage, casual brutality that the fiercest rounds require._

_Pity or savagery. A smirk. Odin seems to have them both in spades these days._

_Fueled by a sudden anger, Loki pulls in once more, heading straight for the trap. He studies it, picking it apart mercilessly and holding each piece up to the light for inspection. It is blood magic. He can smell it, thick and heavy and cloying in his nostrils. Loki wonders if Eir could see it, or if it was too well-hidden, even for her. He doubts that she could; there was no reason for her to even look for such a spell._

_He continues to worry the snare, making sure there are no other surprises hidden within, and when he is at last satisfied, he steps back from it. There is no destroying it. There is no breaking it. His only option is to block it, cushion and isolate it. It isn’t a perfect solution; there is not one, but Loki can play Odin’s games for as long as he needs to. He is called the Trickster for a reason._

_Once his work is complete, Loki casts around for anything else that might hinder him. He almost misses it, tucked away as it is. Small, innocent, with power masked in simplicity; it reeks of the All-Father, but even more so, the spell bears the mark of his mother. Combined magic, hidden so deeply it is now an integral part of his very makeup._

_A glamour._ The _glamour._

_A deceptively easy spell, even more so for an illusionist like himself. In any other place, it would be a joke. A party trick._

_Any other place but here._

_He reaches forward hesitantly, ever so gently. He touches it, studies it like he did the other, looking from all angles until its configuration is burned into his memory._

_Then, in a single movement, he reaches out and crushes it in his hand._

_***_

_She finds him a lifetime later; he has no idea how long he has been standing in front of the ornate mirror. The bandages are gone, and the angry-looking scar flares indigo against the blue of his skin. Dark blood trails in a thin stream down his stomach. It is not yet drying; he stopped the bleeding only a few minutes ago. Perhaps an hour. It almost doesn’t matter._

_The lines that curve along his forehead and face mean nothing to him; he feels that they should, and it troubles him. He thinks of the giants on the beach, his brothers, and he wonders if they are the same. If he is marked as they are. The whorls and ridges continue down his arms, his back and his legs. There are even some on his chest, the pattern disrupted by the vicious wound that should have killed him._

_He does not look at her as she approaches, bare feet silent on the cool stone. He cannot tear his gaze away from his own face, from the scarlet eyes that stare back at him, from the creature that stands before him, dripping black blood slowly onto a floor that once belonged to a prince of Asgard. It is only when she touches his arm that he closes his eyes and jerks away, fearing that his skin will burn her. He does not want to look at her, does not want to face the revulsion in her eyes when she at last sees him for what he truly is._

_Her hands touch his face, running delicately along the ridges. She feels warmer than normal, but not unbearably so, and she does not recoil in pain. She merely glides her fingers along the half-spirals, tracing them across his shoulders and down his chest with a soft curiosity that makes his heart ache. She continues her gentle exploration, stroking his arms and taking his hands in hers. Bringing them to her lips, she nuzzles his clenched fist until his fingers loosen. She presses her lips, then her cheek into his palm, and almost against his will, he relaxes the other, cupping her face in both hands and touching his forehead to hers._

_“Look at me,” she says, and he shakes his head, trying to pull away. Her fingers tighten on his wrists, just enough to keep him exactly where he is. “_ Look _at me,_ ástin _.”_

_He lifts his head and opens his eyes, blood-red meeting silver-green. His vision blurs with tears; even those are cold, and he blinks them away._

_“Tell me what you see.” Her voice is quiet._

_He does not bother to misunderstand; this is not about her, and they both know it._

_“A monster,” he tells her. “I see a monster.” He has to force the next words out, but to not speak them would be infinitely worse. “What do you see?”_

_She does not answer at once. Instead, she raises up on her toes and presses her lips to his. The kiss is sweet and over too soon, but it speaks volumes._

_“I see Loki,” she says. “My Loki. And you are beautiful.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being so patient with me. <3 You are all the literal best and I appreciate you so much. Feedback loved and hoarded, as per usual. Happy Wednesday!
> 
> (also I very rarely give you face claims, I do that on purpose, but Forseti is 100% Firefly-era Ron Glass. Fight me.)


	22. Chapter 22

The days since Helblindi’s announcement had blurred together, bursts of activity amid stretches of long, steady work.

By the time Blodgada flicked the switch to disconnect the final messagerift, full dark had long since fallen. She stood and stretched, the familiar ache in her back almost a comfort. If not true action, it at least represented a direction of sorts. Tasks completed successfully.

Her fingertips grazed the ceiling of the small room as she mentally ran through the council members. Those with specific roles, such as Drofn as Quartermistress and Blodgada herself as Head of Intelligence, were already in the capitol. She’d spent much of the afternoon contacting and organizing those members that headed the various provinces on Jotunheim. None of them had seemed surprised that Helblindi was calling for a council, and despite Blodgada’s refusal to indicate the reason, most of them had smiled knowingly and accepted the summons with a bit of badly-hidden glee.

A few were still out of reach of the rift network, despite the Observatory’s best efforts; the nearest council member to each of those promised to send runners. Blodgada spent a few moments calculating the distances the messengers would have to travel, making neat, careful notes on the map that took up most of one wall in the chamber. Her mind worked rapidly, calculating distances to the nearest travelrifts from each geographic division, the paths the runners would take, and the roads back to the capital. It would be a bit longer than the nine or ten days she had estimated for Helblindi; her instincts hadn’t been far off, but she also hadn’t planned on having to spend two full days restoring the connection to the southern reaches after a freak landslide had blocked one of only three working rifts.

Yfrid arrived to relieve her; after a quick refresher on the protocols for high-level messages, Blodgada left the other woman at the messagerift lens and stumbled off to bed. She had been unable to shake her fatigue, unsure whether it was from injury or from pushing too hard for too long. Blodgada refused to acknowledge that the exhaustion might have an emotional component. The thought flickered through her mind on occasion, and without fail, she ruthlessly shoved it aside. Perhaps there would be time for weakness later; Helblindi needed her now, whether he admitted it or not.

Regardless of the reason, Blodgada knew when enough was enough. She slipped through the main room, drained and silent as she passed the watchers, glued to their posts even in the dead of night. Blodgada felt a small swell of pride as well as gratitude for the others in the Observatory, the constant watch on the All-Father, the Traitor and the Witch.

As she stepped out of the cavern into the bitter night, Blodgada took a deep, cleansing breath. Off to her left, she saw lights in the engineering shed, accompanied by the clatter of metal and quiet voices. The voices occasionally overlapped in excitement, and she toyed with the idea of peeking in to see what they were working on. Though the temptation was great, she reminded herself that she was to meet with them in the morning. It would be unkind, not to mention unproductive, to disturb them when they were so clearly hard at work doing as she’d asked.

The two hours required to walk to her rooms in the palace and back was time better spent in sleep, and so Blodgada headed for the dormitory. She suspected that the other Observatory workers had forgotten she had a room allotted to her; this was confirmed by both their looks of confusion at seeing her so late at night and by the supplies and broken furniture stacked haphazardly in the tiny space. No matter. Clearing her cot as best she could, Blodgada lay down without even bothering to take off her boots. She slept like a stone in the tiny, windowless room, waking up in perfect sync with a sunrise she couldn’t see.

If anything, the noise from the building where Vornir and the engineers worked had intensified since she’d walked by earlier. The door was slightly ajar, and she pushed it open the rest of the way as she rapped on a support beam to announce her presence. They didn’t seem to notice her at first, huddled as they were in deep conversation. In the middle of the small crowd stood a machine she’d never seen before; it almost looked like a riftgate. It _certainly_ didn’t look like the relay station she’d assigned them to build.

Blodgada had barely opened her mouth to say something when Vornir looked up; within only a second, he was pushing his way through the others.

“Don’t panic,” he said as he approached, and she lifted a brow with a look that stopped him dead. He held up his hands a little desperately. “Hear me out. I know you told us to work on the relays so that we can get messages to Surtr, but we didn’t. They were already on a project, and the minute I realized what they had, I changed the orders. It was wrong. I know it. I _know_ it, and I’ll understand completely if you have to discipline me, but please, _please_ listen first. Give us five minutes, then do what you have to.”

She didn’t answer right away, studying the boy and the group behind him while reminding herself that they weren’t soldiers. They were creators, scientists, and clearly excited about something. A nod as she stepped further into the room; Vornir and the others relaxed fractionally until Blodgada turned her head and saw the watchrift that flickered high on one wall. The top of someone’s head was clearly visible through the wavering light, and her frown deepened.

“Five minutes,” Vornir repeated rapidly. “Five minutes. I know we’re not supposed to see what she’s doing, but we needed a target, and the less who know, the better.” He crossed to the rift, a placating hand extended. “Five minutes. I swear.”

Blodgada gestured silently for him to continue, then folded her arms.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “So. Watchrift, right?”

An expectant, hopeful look, and she played along, answering bluntly. “Yes.”

“Just a watchrift. Not any other kind.”

“Yes.” Blodgada stifled her irritation as best she could. She liked Vornir; she really did, but he’d disobeyed her and was now wasting her time.

“Yes. Okay.” He awkwardly cleared his throat, then nodded. “Go on.”

A moment passed before she realized that his words weren’t directed at her, but at someone behind her. She glanced over her shoulder as one of the engineers pulled a lever. With a strange, distant hiss, the rift expanded, quickly widening further than the lens could cover. It continued to grow until it was wider than the lens itself, and in only a few seconds, it hovered visibly in the air. Vornir leaned carefully forward, face nearly in a rift that was now more than large enough to step through. It revealed a figure hunched over a desk, rapidly scribbling notations.

“Yfrid!” he whispered harshly, but she was already turning around, a grin on her face.

“Success!”

Vornir gave an answering smile, which faded as he turned to Blodgada.

“Just _how_ many people know about this besides me?” she asked, brow raised.

“Only me,” came Yfrid’s reply; her voice was barely altered by the rift between them. “We promise.”

Blodgada looked between the two conspirators. Vornir and Yfrid looked back with a mixture of fear and excitement, and finally Blodgada sighed.

“Take the message that’s coming in behind you.”

Yfrid nodded and immediately returned to working the controls. She gave a distracted wave in answer to Vornir’s thanks, and the young man met Blodgada’s eyes warily as he gave a signal for the engineers to turn off the machine.  

Blodgada studied the construct as it spun down, her mind racing. Widening rifts. It was a _huge_ leap forward, beyond almost anything they’d had prior to the Destruction. Smaller rifts were far more common than larger ones, as well; watchrifts outnumbered travelrifts by at least a hundred to one. She ran her thumb idly along the ridge on her jaw as she thought. If they could widen existing watchrifts, relays might become obsolete, saving huge amounts of time and manpower. But more than that, there were already established watchrifts to Muspelheim. Her thumb slowed as she mentally traced rift paths. One here, another here, open this one further and connect there...

Vornir spoke, breaking her chain of thought. “It was the destabilization of the Asgard travelrift,” he said softly. “They’ve been trying to reproduce it and study what might have happened. What caused the interaction. They learned that destabilizing a rift _can_ make it shrink and disappear, but it’s possible to push it the other way, too.”

Blodgada didn’t take her eyes off the machine. “How soon can you connect it to the rift network?”

The relief in the room was palpable as the engineers consulted for a moment. Words like “resonance” and “testing” floated out of the murmur, but at last a consensus was reached. One of them stepped forward quickly; more than likely he’d been nudged by a fellow worker. “Three to five days, my Lady.”

She nodded. “Do it. I want a progress report every evening.” A faint, sympathetic smile touched her lips. “You may give it to Vornir, if you wish, but every day. Without fail.” They nodded, then began dispersing to see to their tasks.  “Well done, all of you,” Blodgada added. “This is fantastic.”

The engineers seemed a little embarrassed and already more than a bit distracted, so Blodgada left them to their work, beckoning for Vornir to join her.

The young man matched his steps to hers. “Does this mean I’m not in trouble for adapting your orders?” he asked hopefully.

“Nice try,” Blodgada retorted conversationally. “Orders are serious business, even for you. This task was outside the normal scope of your responsibilities; you did not have no authority to adapt the project. You may not understand my orders, or you may think that you know better. Perhaps in this moment you did, but when I give instructions as specific as the ones I gave you, I do it for a very, _very_ good reason.” She slowed her steps a fraction. “The matter isn’t urgent; I know it _seems_ so, but quickly though Helblindi wants to move, we have time. _You_ have time to stop and think.”

Vornir hung his head. “I’m sorry. I just-” He stopped, took a breath and began again. “What should I have done?”

Blodgada smiled. This willingness to learn was why Vornir had been a good apprentice, and how he was becoming a strong ally. “Stop,” she repeated, “and think. Send a message to your superior, then wait for the response. Take the message yourself if you think time is short. Act on your own if and _only_ if the situation requires it.”

Vornir’s lip twitched, and Blodgada saw the memory of watching his superior officer throw herself into a collapsing rift spreading all over his face. She poked him more firmly than necessary, covering her own smirk.

“You’re responsible for the Observatory, such as it is at the moment, and I trust you to run it as you see fit. However, when your superior gives you an order, it is your responsibility to follow them to the letter. To help you remember that, I’m ordering you to perform some hard labor.” A subtle emphasis on the word, and he winced a little.

“How long?”

Blogada glanced nonchalantly at the building behind them. “Oh, I’d say three to five days,” she said with a slight grin. “So get to it.”

He nodded and turned away, then paused. “You’ve done it, though,” he said. “Right?”

“Done what?” she asked, her mind already running down rift paths.

“Changed orders. Defied them because there was no one else. Because you had no other choice.”

“Once,” she confirmed softly. “Only once. At Karnsa.”

Vornir nodded again, more thoughtfully this time, but did not press. Instead, he turned silently toward the engineering shed, leaving Blodgada to continue on alone.

****

_The battle of Karnsa itself is not particularly important. It is not a large battle, and the location is neither strategically significant nor resource rich. There is absolutely nothing to distinguish it from countless other battles in this campaign. It is just another step on a long, long road._

_But any step can cause a stumble._

_“Are you certain?” Laufey asks Blodgada, frowning at the mass of kneeling figures before him._

_“Yes, my liege. As soon as we flanked them, they threw down their weapons and surrendered. Their leader made it quite clear._ We surrender _in three languages, over and over.”_

_“Marauders don’t surrender,” Byleistr argues, ice blade at the ready. “They fight, or they flee.”_

_“These did.” Blodgada shrugs. “I have no explanation, either, and none of them has given me one.”_

_Laufey sighs. “This does complicate things. Marauders don’t surrender, at least not historically, but other soldiers do, and there is a precedent to follow. Treat them as we would any other. We send word to their commanders and negotiate their return. They have acted in good faith, and we will respond honorably.”_

_Byleistr narrows his eyes, voice lowered in thought. “You know,” he observes, “if they wanted to stall us here, this is a pretty effective way to do it.”_

_“Nothing in their strategy so far suggests that to be the case,” Blodgada replies, running through previous battles in her mind. “This isn’t exactly a place they’d want to be stuck, either. A trap, perhaps.”_

_“Or perhaps a bunch of marauders either panicked or grew brains.” There is weariness and perhaps a bit of understanding in Laufey’s voice as he turns to Byleistr. “Draft a letter to the marauder general. I suspect we’ll have to meet with him ourselves, but it will give us something to work from.” He then looks at his Lieutenant. “Is there anywhere more contained we can keep these prisoners?”_

_Blodgada is already judging the number of figures that crouch below. “There’s a cave about a thousand steps from here,” she answers. “One small entrance, no exits that we’ve found. I’ll have the smiths fit some bars, and we’ll post some guards. It will be a tight fit, though, so don’t spend too long negotiating. I know how chatty Byleistr can be.”_

_The crown prince shoots her a look as long-suffering as the one his father gives her, but both are hiding gentle smirks. Levity is too hard to find on the battlefield, and less for those who lead._

_“Do it,” Laufey orders after a moment, then jerks his chin at Byleistr. “Let’s get this over with.”_

_\--_

_With Laufey and Byleistr gone to meet with the marauder generals, an unusual lull settles over the Jotun camp. As is the case in all realms, the bored soldiers begin to grumble. Blodgada has been expecting it; there are some rumblings from the lower rank, and despite his high status, more than a little from Helblindi, as well._ That _, however, is also to be expected. She tolerates it as best she can and fulfills the duties Laufey has entrusted to her. Blodgada ensures that the prisoners are fed and guarded, all the while waiting to hear what should be done with them._

_As the days pass, the grumbling becomes more and more noticeable, and she knows better than to ignore it. Rumors begin to circulate, whispers of those who want to rid themselves of the prisoners. She has heard the arguments before: a waste of resources, a drain on supplies. These are not honorable enemies. They are not dwarves, or dark elves. They are marauders._

_There are no names linked to the rumors, but it is more than idle grousing. It grows by the day. Blodgada has not been given leave to assign more guards, so she is forced to go to the only person in the encampment with that authority._

_Helblindi._

_“The prisoners do not need more guards,” he tells her in a bored voice while he trims his nails with his ever-present knife. “They are tiny and unarmed. I doubt they could do us any harm, even if they tried.”_

_“It’s not_ us _I’m concerned about,” Blodgada presses, trying to hold in her frustration. “We are honor-bound to keep them safe during negotiations, and there are too many in camp who disagree. I think they’re in danger.”_

 _“_ They _are in danger?” retorts Helblindi sharply. “_ They _are a ploy to distract us. The danger is not here; it’s out there, which is why I have reassigned the prison guards to perimeter duty.”_

_“You what? When?” Surely he cannot be that foolish._

_“This morning. I’m not sure why you haven’t heard,” he says, returning to his nails, “what with you being master of spies and all.”_

_Blodgada recognizes the dismissive tone; there will be no changing his mind. She turns briskly and leaves, intent on watching the prisoners herself. Laufey and Byleistr are deep in negotiations by now, and if something happens to the prisoners, her king and his son will be at risk of reprisal. The prisoners’ safety guarantees her king’s._

_Her path toward the cave-turned-prison takes her through the center of camp, and she slows as she approaches the firepits. A frown touches her lips; despite the fact that the Jotun have been under orders to stay put, there is no noise from the tents. No murmur of voices. There is not a soul in sight._

_Blodgada begins to run._

_She is standing at the door of the cave, still slightly out of breath, when the large mass of Jotun soldiers arrive. They have clearly not expected to see her, and as they stumble to a halt, their leader surveys her carefully. “What are you doing here?” he finally asks, before belatedly adding “my Lady.”_

_“Guarding the prisoners,” she answers bluntly, “since it seems that no one else wants the job. And you?”_

_“Giving you time to relax,” comes the reply, accompanied by a bit of a grin. “We’re here to make sure they cause you no problems at all.”_

_“Return to your camps immediately,” she orders. “These people require protection, and I intend to provide it as per my King’s instruction.”_

_“Protection?” one man asks, incredulous. “Have you gone mad?”_

_“Honor requires it,” Blodgada snaps, patience gone, “and I should have no need to explain that. You will leave immediately. That is an order.”_

_“Marauders have no honor!” shouts another soldier. “After all they’ve stolen? After all the ambushes? You want to protect them after all they’ve done to us?”_

_“Getting rid of them will restore Jotun honor,” growls the first._

_“You are disobeying direct orders, both from me and from your king. By taking vengeance on these marauders you belie his word and endanger his person.” Her voice drops to a threatening whisper. “This is treason.”_

_“Treason is protecting the marauders over your own blood! Defending our enemies!” shouts the second soldier. “The treason is yours!”_

_He rushes at the Lieutenant, ice already gathering on his arm, but Blodgada’s blade and her reflexes are quicker, and he does not stand a chance. His comrades hold still for a moment, staring at the body crumpled at Blodgada’s feet. Then, as one, they attack._

_The opening is narrow; they can come at her only a few at a time, but these are Jotun soldiers -_ her _soldiers - and she is hard pressed. She blocks and parries, slashes and stabs, all the while shouting for the others to stand down. Some attack her directly, while others attempt to get past her to the marauders cowering in the cave. All fall before her blade._

_“Stand down!” she screams, bringing her blade down in a final blow, but there is no one left to hear. She stands panting, covered in blood and surrounded by Jotun dead._

_Blodgada hears footsteps in the distance; she raises her blade, settles her feet, and pushes the bodies from her mind. She will do whatever is necessary to protect her king. The new group surges into sight, and Blodgada recognizes Helblindi at its head. Whatever he is going to say vanishes as he looks at her, at the bodies, at her bloodied sword. Finally he speaks._

_“Take her.”_

_\--_

_As there is no other place to confine her, Blodgada is placed with the marauder prisoners to await the return of Laufey and Byleistr. They will not look her in the eye, instead huddling together as far away from her as the small cavern allows. She leaves them alone as well, unsure of what to say to them in any case. It is only when soldiers come to fetch the marauders that she learns that Laufey and Byleistr have been successful in their negotiations. The freed prisoners cast fearful looks at her over their shoulders as they are led away to be returned to their army. Word reaches her not long after: the marauder elite determined that the surrender constituted desertion, and to a soul, all of the prisoners have been executed. She is grateful that Byleistr is the one to bring the news; she does not believe she could stomach Helblindi’s reaction._

_The court martial is brief. Laufey determines that Blodgada acted in the best interest of the Jotun people and was well within her rights to do so. Defending her king and keeping the statutes of established negotiating rules, not to mention Jotun honor, far outweighs any need the Jotun should have had for revenge. She is acquitted and reinstated as First Lieutenant. Helblindi is also found faultless, as it was his place to shift guard schedules. The blame is placed on the Jotun soldiers who begun the attack, and they are dead. With no punishment to mete out, the matter is settled._

_Except it is not._

_Blodgada sits in her room at the palace, staring at the wall. Through the window, she hears the banging of iron bars. A children’s game, and one she knows well. Two move the bars in a pattern while a third jumps, doing their best to avoid being caught. Blodgada played the game as a child, dodging bars at a speed that impressed even Helblindi. It is an old, familiar sound. The rhyme, however, is new._

Blood lieutenant watches all

Those who disobey will fall

Hair is red with bloody stain

Reminding her of those she’s slain

Jotun soldiers she betrayed

Stabbed them all with icy blade

Blood lieutenant kills her own

How many bodies when she's done?

_The children begin to count as the bars clang faster and faster. A knock at her door briefly interrupts the sound of children's voices, but she does not answer. She is listening._

_Unbidden, Byleistr enters just as the jumper misses and the children laugh in delight._

_“Thirty-four,” she says quietly. “They never get it right. It was thirty-four.”_

_The prince crosses the room and gently closes the shutters, muffling the voices. She does not react even when he sits next to her on the bed. He leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs and staring as his clasped hands for a long moment._

_“You did what was necessary,” he finally says. “You have_ always _done what was necessary to serve your King and this people. Laufey knows it. I know it. Everyone with half a brain knows it, and the rest can freeze in Hel.”_

_“Helblindi…” she breaks off, unsure what to say. She has not asked Helblindi why he came when he did, and he has not volunteered his reasoning._

_“...is of no consequence,” finishes Byleistr, not unkindly. He pauses. “I know you’ll never speak out against a superior officer, so I’ll do it for you. Helblindi is a_ hestur’s _ass, and we both know it.”_

_Blodgada feels a smile flicker, and Byleistr returns a rare grin of his own before becoming pensive once more. “It will fade,” he said. “Karnsa is fresh in everyone's mind right now, but with time it will fade. It always does. You're strong, and your reputation is solid. You have long years of service to come, and this won’t overshadow it forever. Take whatever time you need, here, or perhaps at the Observatory, but don’t hide. You’re better than that. When you’re ready to return, you’ll be welcomed.”_

_She nods but remains silent, and he uses the time to glance around the room, eyes flicking across the undisturbed bed and the tray on the table nearby. “This leave is meant to let you rest,” he adds sternly. “Neither the prison nor the court martial did your any favors in that regard, and you’re not doing much better now. I need you in top form when you come back.”_

_The word strikes her. Not if. When. His voice is firm and confident, and he is every bit Laufey’s son. “Get some rest. That’s an order.” She nods again, looking over in surprise when he places a hand on her shoulder. “Is there anything else I can get you? Books? Something different to eat?”_

_She glances guiltily at her untouched plate. “I'll be all right,” she murmurs._

_“You will,” he agrees. “I know it.” He squeezes her shoulder before he stands, closing the door smoothly behind him. Blodgada waits until she can no longer hear his footsteps before nudging the shutter open once more._

Blood lieutenant kills her own

How many bodies till she's done?

One…

Two...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's not a Wednesday, but y'all are being so patient. :) Love to you all! Feedcrack appreciated!


	23. Chapter 23

Council members began filtering in over the next few days. Since Helblindi was still mending, it fell to Blodgada to sort out the newcomers. She found rooms for their staffs, determined who wasn’t getting along with whom and adjusted quarters accordingly, and spent the bulk of her days being reminded of why she hated life at court. Most wanted to meet with Helblindi before the council convened, hoping to speak with him in private, but with help from Drofn and Kolga, she was able to keep everyone out of the infirmary. One of the council’s primary purposes was to provide a balanced view of Jotun issues, and Blodgada knew the risks of anyone catching Helblindi’s ear without that balance in place. It was far too soon. Laufey had had his own balance, as had Byleistr. Perhaps, with time, Helblindi would as well. In the meantime, Blodgada pasted a polite smile on her face and and repeated that the council would convene as soon as _all_ the members had arrived.

 _All those that had survived_ , she mentally amended. The Destruction had been thorough. While some councillors who had died had been replaced, there had been no need to replace others. The lands they had overseen were gone, swallowed up in ash and smoke.

The last to arrive was the delegation from the Lower Reaches. It had once been a bustling port, reflecting the rich stocks of fish and shorebirds that had teemed along the stark cliffs and shores jutting into the eastern seas. The landscape was radically different now, but Njall and his folk had adapted as best they could, and his new quarries and stoneworks were slowly but surely taking shape. The Reaches were a success story, one of few they could find, and Njall had been one of the staunchest defenders of Byleistr’s choice to parley with Asgard. Blodgada hoped that he would be equally as strong in his support for Helblindi as king.

Helblindi had never bothered to attend councils, always claiming other responsibilities or interests, and Laufey had allowed it. The younger son had thought it his own cleverness, but Laufey had known even then that Helblindi didn’t belong in a council chamber; his skills were better focused elsewhere. Byleistr had tried to involve Helblindi to no avail. The closest he’d come was the aborted talks with Asgard.

As a result, Blodgada found herself left with the somewhat-onerous duty of convening and conducting the first council session. She’d been attending them for centuries; the duty had fallen on her more than once, both as First Lieutenant and as Head of Intelligence. The last time, however, she’d been a few seats down from Laufey; this time, her seat was directly to Helblindi’s right. The juxtaposition was jarring, but she kept her face smooth as she stood with her hands clasped behind her back, watching the council members file in. They took their places along the table; as they did so, Blodgada noticed that each glanced around at the empty chairs Helblindi had deliberately left in place. All told, nearly half the seats remained unoccupied. Barely looking at the parchment before her, Blodgada called the council to order, took note of those present, and then announced Helblindi, King of Jotunheim. He gestured for her to sit but didn’t stand immediately.

Once he was sure all eyes were on him, Helblindi stood slowly, giving the council ample time to see the healing wound on his side, left unbandaged for the occasion.

“Three years,” he began. “It has been over three years since this council last met. Mere moments in the march of time.” His voice lowered to a dangerous whisper. “But oh, such moments.” He looked around the table. “Laufey. Killed by one who professed to be an ally. A traitor who promised us salvation and instead brought ruin. My father. Your king. Murdered in cold blood by a son of Asgard.

“But that was not enough. He turned his weapon upon us, raining devastation from the skies in direct defiance of a treaty that has stood for _millennia_.” At this, Blodgada started. Helblindi, it appeared, had been doing some reading. There might be hope yet. Her thoughts were drowned out as his words grew louder.

“Our realm was nearly destroyed. Warped beyond recognition. Countless of our brothers and sisters slain by the Bifrost. By a son of Asgard. But even _that_ was not enough. Through Asgard’s neglect, thousands more have perished. Our souls screamed for vengeance. _Your_ voices cried for retribution, but we did not act. Byleistr forbade it. He said that we did not have the strength, that all of our focus needed to be on survival, on preserving the Jotun race. I disagreed, as did many of you, but Byleistr was our king. His word was final.”

 _And he was right,_ Blodgada thought bitterly. _Byleistr saved us, you fool. Do not minimize his actions._ There was no lie, however. Helblindi spoke the truth, as he saw it. Byleistr had forbidden retaliation, despite the arguments of many of those now seated before Helblindi.

“Even Byleistr knew that the actions of the Traitor should not go unpunished. We were told - by Asgard - that the prince was dead. That he paid for his crimes with his own blood.” Helblindi leaned forward, resting his fists on the table. “And they _lied_ . They lied to us across the negotiating table in a frank violation of the trust that such a place requires. We chose to avenge our realm. We chose to avenge our dead, and when we did, our king fell. In the very moment he exacted his vengeance - _our_ vengeance - Byleistr was slain by the Traitor’s whore.”  

A brief murmur broke the heavy silence. The details of Byleistr’s death had so far been kept quiet, and shock spread across many of the gathered faces.

“And for what?” Helblindi’s voice cut across the noise. “My attacker lives. The Witch lives.” He paused for effect. “The Traitor lives.” A cold, sharp smile. “Oh, yes. Two murderers. My own attacker. They’ve been offered shelter. Protection. Asylum. I’ll let you guess where.”

The murmuring grew louder, and Helblindi allowed it to for a moment, that smile still on his face. “Enough!” he shouted at last, and the council went quiet. “Jotunheim has suffered enough. We will not allow this abuse. We will not allow this injustice. We will not allow our great, ancient race to be treated this way. _I_ will not allow it.” He paused, looking around the now-silent table. “Make no mistake. I did not call you here to ask permission. I brought you here to become part of Jotunheim’s vengeance. I have brought you here as a council of war. Any who do not support this may go, and I suggest you go quickly. As of this moment, we are at war, and I, Helblindi, King of Jotunheim, declare that Asgard will not stand unpunished.”

The council burst into commotion, but as Blodgada listened, she realized it was not argument, but excitement. Not one person moved to the doors. As before, Helblindi let the noise grow before lifting a hand. Silence fell like frost as he sat, looking at each council member in turn. Finally satisfied, he nodded to Blodgada.

“Let’s begin.”

***

The next month passed quickly. Blodgada spent most of her time crammed into a tiny office that was already crowded with muster reports, supply lists and maps. The demands of Helblindi and his council kept her all but chained to the palace, but it was just as well. Her rooms at the station had been well and truly taken over in the organized chaos that the Observatory had become; the last Vornir had told her, an engineer had cannibalized her bedframe for its support beams. Most of the activity centered around the new machine, dubbed “the drill” by its builders; it was being relentlessly tested, and for that they needed the rift network.

Blodgada read the reports when she had a moment, trusting that Vornir was giving her the most important information first. The engineers and watchers had first opened tiny rifts, finding the furthest ones they could. Once that part of the test was complete, they had begun chaining watchrifts together, bouncing from one distant point to the next. In this way, they had reached Svartalfheim only a few days before, proving that the rifts were stable between other realms, not just Midgard. Everything was going smoothly, if not as quickly as Blodgada hoped.

The work was complicated by the fact that the drill wasn’t the only project at the Observatory. Watchers kept close eyes on Asgard, either the infirmary or a few of the other places the Traitor and his party had been seen. Others spent their time skimming Asgard and Midgard for any signs of military action or possibly retaliation. The few lenses that remained were dedicated to the search for Surtr. A few watchrifts to Muspelheim had already been located, but they were sparse and ill-defined. Blodgada had instructed the last group of watchers to focus on finding the palace first. That was the most likely place he would be found, and if not, they might know where he was. So, using the nascent technology the engineers had brought to life, those at the Observatory painstakingly chained rifts together. It was mentally exhausting work; see where a branch led, perhaps having to backtrack or retrace lost paths, but all the while they crept closer to their goal.

A few weeks after the drill had been brought online, Vornir tapped on Blodgada’s door and poked his head in. “We’ve got a rift to the palace,” he announced without introduction. “We also think we’ve found Surtr; it’s hard to know for sure. We’re having trouble seeing in the dark, but I think you need to come, if you have time. The chain is mostly stable, but I can’t make promises.”

“Of course,” she said, immediately abandoning her stack of parchment and standing. “Well done, you.”

They clattered down steps and through the courtyard; Vornir’s _hestur_ stood blowing steam in the cold afternoon air. A groom brought up another beast, and Blodgada appreciated her former apprentice’s forethought. They mounted, then set off at a rapid pace for the Observatory. “How many rifts did you end up having to chain together?” she asked him.

“Thirty-one.” He made a face as he clicked his tongue at his mount. “I’ll be the first to tell you that the connection isn’t exactly high quality, and it’s requiring an unholy amount of power. We’re going to try for a shorter path, but honestly? We’re pretty damn proud we have one at all.”

“You should be,” Blodgada answered truthfully. It was impressive: the drill, and now this ability. They’d advanced what seemed years ahead in only a few weeks, and it struck her how strongly times of war drove technological development. It was an undeniable connection, if unfortunate. Thinking back, she realized that most innovation had come in times of difficulty. The rift network had been born out of a need to traverse vast stretches of hostile land, and even the Jotun mining techniques sprung from a desperate need for fuel. _Why, then_ , she thought, _do other realms fare so much better with less trouble?_ The thought occupied her on the quiet ride to the station. Vornir was clearly exhausted, his head bowed over his _hestur’s_ , and she was content to let him rest as he could.

The main watch room was barely illuminated; it was just enough to keep from running into tables and equipment. Muspelheim’s sky was even darker than Jotun’s, even now; ash from volcanoes spewed constantly into the heavens. In a hushed tone, Vornir explained that the darkness of the room helped the watchers see through the dim lenses to the realm of fire; there had been some issue with the lenses from Asgard, but the impasse had eventually been solved with a few hooded lanterns. They ducked into a side room, where the watcher was happy to give over the controls. She rubbed tired eyes and smiled when Vornir told her to get food and rest. Blodgada slid behind the controls. It was difficult to see through the dim lens at first, but after a moment or two, her eyes adjusted to the gloom, and details began to emerge.

This was no throne room, but rather a smaller chamber like those in which Byleistr had often been found. The only light was dim and reddish; it came from a large, arched window through which Blodgada could see black, ash-filled sky. The clouds were lit from beneath by glowing lava flows. As her eyes adjusted, a figure seated on a low-backed chair near the window became visible. He lounged, legs stretched out in front of him as he read from a sheet of parchment. His skin was a dark charcoal color, and his straight black hair fell nearly to the floor behind the bench. The figure turned to add the parchment to a growing pile on the floor, then picked up another, and in that moment, she saw his face clearly. The facial ridges that marked the Jotun were exaggerated in the fire giants, almost to the point of being horns. The generally accepted theory was that it was a way to shed excess heat, but in practice, it meant that fire giants were fairly easy to distinguish from one another.

There was no doubt. This was Surtr, King of Muspelheim.

Blodgada took a minute to search with the lens, making sure as best she could that Surtr was alone. Her duty was to contact him, not to spread gossip about the Jotun situation or the rift network. There was no way to notify him that a message was coming, but that was unavoidable. She just hoped he wouldn’t be too upset about the interruption.

“Target confirmed,” she told Vornir. “Engage the drill.”

Vornir sprinted from the room, returning to the main chamber; within seconds, Blodgada heard the drill begin to spin. The rift hissed as it widened. In an instant, Surtr was on his feet, a flaming blade already in his hand as he whirled to find the intruder. He stopped dead, eyes meeting Blodgada’s through the rift, and she spoke quickly.

“I offer peace and greetings to Surtr, King of Muspelheim. I am Blodgada, First Lieutenant to… Helblindi, King of Jotunheim.” The pause was almost unnoticeable; she was improving by the day.

Surtr held his pose as he studied her for a long moment. At last, he lowered his weapon, the flames dying away into nothing. “Greetings to the Blood Lieutenant of Jotunheim,” he answered. “Gods below, but it’s good to see you. It’s been far too long since we’ve had news of our cousins.”

“To our sorrow as well,” Blodgada said, “and believe me when I say that we would have contacted you, if it had been possible.”

She felt a brief wave of relief at his use of the familiar term. There had been no way to tell if Muspelheim had been taken in by Asgard’s lies, though Blodgada had been fairly confident that they had not. There was a kinship of sorts between Muspelheim and Jotunheim. They were very different realms, so much so that a citizen of one would not be able to survive on the other, but they had always considered each other cousins. If the Loremasters were to be believed, the fire giants and frost giants had once been a single race, but they had been separated long ago. Each group had found themselves in brutal environments and had subsequently adapted - the frost giants to the bitter cold of Jotunheim and the fire giants to the heat and ash of Muspelheim.

In the end, though, the two races had more similarities than differences. Roughly the same size. Same body type. Same scarlet eyes. Beyond that, they shared similar culture and similar priorities; their relationships to Asgard were cut from the same cloth. The threads were tenuous at best, and had they truly been aware of what had happened over the past few years, Muspelheim would not have stood idly by. They had stood as allies for millennia, interdependent until the rift network had been destroyed.

“I know,” he said matter-of-factly. “That’s what concerned us. At first, we thought it an equipment failure on our part. We tried to reestablish contact, but the machinery has been… troublesome.” Blodgada nodded in understanding. The rift machinery was extremely sensitive to overheating; nearly all of the equipment for contact had been kept on Jotunheim. “As time passed with still no word, we feared something had gone terribly wrong. We tried to make our own relays, but we were unable to align the rifts. At last, we turned to Asgard and tried to get the attention of the Guardian of the Bifrost. Nothing. They, too, have been silent.” Bitterness touched his voice as he sat on the bench once more.

“The rifts did change,” Blodgada confirmed, remembering endless days of scouring the Traitor’s Waste. “We also searched for a way to reconnect, but there were other factors to be dealt with.”

“So it would seem.” Surtr frowned. “The rumors are true, then. Helblindi is King. How did he manage that, or do I even want to know?” He looked at Blodgada from under his spiraling horns. “Did Laufey invade Asgard? What of Byleistr?”

Blodgada laughed, sharp and without humor. “We did not _invade_. We went on the invitation of Odin’s younger son. Twice, actually. Once to recover the Casket during the heir’s coronation, and once to assassinate Odin. Both attempts failed, and we were betrayed. Where did you hear that we invaded?”

Surtr’s brow lowered thoughtfully. “As I said, rumors only. It was hard to know what to believe, but with no contact from you, or from _any_ one, we had nothing else to use.”

Blodgada was confused. “But without contact, where did the rumors come from?”

“Dwarves.” Surtr sat back and folded his arms. “There are far more of them here than there used to be. We have a quite a few settlements now; they claim they come for the gems, the metal, the easy forging, but I think it’s more than that.”  He paused. “Their roots ran deep, once, but now they lie in pieces. They have no homeland to speak of; some of them try to live on Vanaheim or even Asgard. Few can actually integrate into those cultures, and those who see no _need_ to integrate have come here.” A shrug. “And they are welcome; their skills and trade have raised improved the lot of nearly everyone with whom they come in contact, and it’s not as though we’re short on space. I wish there were a way we could send some to aid you, but I’m not sure it would be possible, even if they could stand the cold.”

Blodgada nodded, knowing how hard the few dwarves that had tried to settle on Jotunheim had suffered, used to the heat and forge as they were. Surtr scoffed gently. “Hel only knows how they communicate with the other realms. They don’t like to share their secrets, any more than we share ours, but I’ve learned not to underestimate what dwarves can achieve. Brokkr was allowed to share the rumors with us: the Jotun invaded Asgard. Laufey was slain in the attack, and the Bifrost was destroyed to prevent further incursions. One of the heirs dead. Now that I speak to you, though, I wonder which heir they actually meant. Odin’s, or Laufey’s?”

Blodgada rubbed a hand over her eyes. “Odin’s. That’s what we were meant to believe, at least. Like any rumor, it is truth woven with fiction. Laufey was killed, yes, but there was no invasion. No attack.” Her jaw clenched a little. “At least not on our part.”

Even through the dim lens between them, Blodgada could see Surtr’s eyes narrow at the bitterness in her voice.

“I was right, then. Laufey would not have invaded. Not without me.” He leaned forward, forearms on his knees, and in the darkness, his pose was so like Byleistr’s that her throat tightened. He watched her with what might have been sympathy for a moment before he spoke again, face canny.

“So, Blood Lieutenant. Tell me what _really_ happened.”

***

The telling took time. Long before she was finished, Blodgada was sweating freely from the heat pouring out of the rift, and Surtr had sent for a cloak to block the freezing draft coming from Jotunheim. The fire giant had many questions; she did her best to answer, giving him a complete understanding of the situation as best she could. As the tale went on, Surtr became visibly angry. It was not Helblindi’s rash, screaming anger, but a solemn, burning rage. He sat now in silence, cloak wrapped tightly around himself and hair shadowing his face as he pondered the situation. His eyes flickered and glowed; Blodgada knew it was only an effect of the light, but it wasn’t hard to imagine them as embers. Hints of the raging fire inside, and she was glad that she was not the focus of that fury.

“Much as it pains me to agree with him,” Surtr finally said, idly stroking his jaw, “Helblindi is right. Asgard has dismissed us for far too long. They have pushed us away, kept us hidden until they no longer have to look at us. We remain rejected and forgotten. No more.” He pinned Blodgada with his blazing glare. “We will stand with you. Muspelheim and Jotunheim as one, and together we will remind Asgard why the giants are to be feared.”

Blodgada bowed. “We thank you, Surtr, King of Muspelheim, oldest and greatest friend of Jotunheim.”

Surtr inclined his head, accepting the honor. “I will need to call my own council,” he said. “It will take some time to know what we can offer. In the meantime, what aid do you require?”

 _All of it._ She shook her head, pushing the thought aside. “Nothing, for now. I was tasked only with finding you, and with discovering if you were amenable to an alliance. Helblindi will determine Jotunheim’s next steps.” She paused a little awkwardly, realizing she should have stated this at the start. “He means no disrespect by not speaking with you himself. He was badly injured...”

“... and he is still learning to be a king,” Surtr finished. “I take no offense. Helblindi is… unprepared, perhaps, but at least he is wise enough to send those he trusts into unfamiliar situations. It is honor enough for me to deal with the Blood Lieutenant.”

Blodgada smiled despite herself. She had carried the title of Blood Lieutenant for centuries; it had fallen on her soon after the disaster at Karnsa. Neither Laufey nor Byleistr had ever used it, as they both knew how much the memory bothered her. Helblindi used it to subtly mock her, ever looking for an edge, and others used it out of fearful reverence or poorly-hidden disgust. In all this time, only Surtr had ever used the title as an honorific. He knew the story, and through it she had earned his respect. She gave a slight bow before she closed the rift, one that Surtr returned, and her smile widened.

Perhaps there was a difference between fire giants and frost giants after all.

***

A breathless runner caught Blodgada about a week later. She had been spending as much time at the Observatory as possible; when questioned, she merely said that it was best that she was nearby when information or messages passed through. It was a sensible plan, so much so that Blodgada herself almost believed it; her behavior certainly had nothing to do with the constant murmurs against Byleistr’s memory at his brother’s council table.

Blodgada was briefly alarmed when the runner appeared in the doorway of the tiny room she had commandeered. She took the note he gave her with some trepidation, but as soon as she opened it, a broad grin split her face. The scrap of parchment contained only one word.

_Surtr._

The moment she entered the small messagerift chamber, Blodgada could feel heat radiating from the open rift. She shut the door behind her, allowing her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness before stepping forward. Surtr was not alone this time; several others were gathered in the room as well. They sat in chairs clustered along a large table, eating and speaking quietly to one another. Blodgada recognized a few of the larger figures but was unable to remember any names, and she knew none of the smaller figures ranged along the table. As soon as she came to a halt before the rift, Surtr nodded to her, lowering his goblet and rapping the table for attention.

“This council is called back to order,” he announced, and the voices around him quieted as the other attendees caught sight of Blodgada. “We welcome the Blood Lieutenant of Jotunheim into our midst. In order to best know how to aid Jotunheim in its - in _our_ \- forthcoming campaign against Asgard, my Lady, the council have some questions. Have you time to speak with us?”

“I do,” she responded formally as she sat in the chair Vornir had thoughtfully provided. “I thank you for this honor, and I am happy to serve this alliance however best I can. What would you like to know?”

The questions flew fast and thick for the next few hours. Though the engineers had been working on a way to block the heat transfer, it seemed as though their efforts had not been entirely successful. Blodgada was grateful for the comforts Vornir provided over that time, sidling in to drop off a cooled goblet or an iced cloth. She barely noticed him come and go; her attention and time were spent recounting what she had told Surtr previously. She worked her way through the elder son’s botched coronation, then to Laufey’s murder and the subsequent Destruction. That brought a flurry of discussion, and it was quite some time before Blodgada was able to move onto the aftermath of the Traitor’s actions, the failed negotiations with Asgard and Byleistr’s attempt at justice. The questions that followed were intelligent and cunning but carried an undercurrent of concern; Blodgada idly wondered if the worry was for the situation or about her. Reliving the pain and terror was exhausting, and more than once, Surtr had calmly offered information, giving Blodgada a moment to gather herself and making the retelling a little more bearable.

She was relieved when the council moved on to discussing the logistics of war; troop numbers and maps were a welcome change from the memory of Byleistr vanishing into dust. The mood remained grim, however.

“Surely you have more troops than this,” observed one council member, her curling horns blocking her face as she bent over her notes.

“I wish,” Blodgada admitted. “The first number I gave you is the number of troops that are ready for muster. The second represents the number of Jotun that can be trained. Helblindi is not above conscription, though I doubt it will come to that. It will merely be a matter of time and preparation. The third denotes infrastructure; farms, mines, forges and the like, all running on skeleton crews. The last are the elderly, the crippled and children. Even Helblindi will not call them forth until there is no other choice.”

The woman looked up from her notes, face startled. “No others?”

“None,” confirmed Blodgada with a shake of her head. “As far as we have been able to establish, every single living Jotun is represented in one of those four numbers.”

She remained quiet while the silence in the other chamber became heavier, watching as the fire giants mentally added the numbers; Blodgada could see the shock and dismay as each discovered exactly what the Destruction had cost Jotunheim.

“We do not ask more than you wish to give,” Blodgada murmured after a long moment, “but as you can see, any bit aid you can offer will be of great help.”

Surtr leaned forward a bit, clasping his hands on the table. “We also are not great in number,” he told her, “nor have we ever been.”

“We were,” a dwarf chimed in. He sat at Surtr’s right hand, tiny compared to the king but with his own noble bearing. “Long ago, we too were a great people, until Asgard…” He broke off, then slammed a fist onto the table, making the man next to him jump. “Not again,” he hissed. “Svartalfheim will not happen again. The dwarves will not allow it.”

“Nor will the giants.” Surtr agreed, his voice low. “Brokkr is right. Jotunheim will not meet the same fate as Svartalfheim.”

“But even _with_ the dwarves,” the curly-horned council member argued, “we don’t have enough. Frost giants, fire giants… no matter what we do, any force we can gather will be too small.”

“There are others who might be willing to join our cause,” replied Surtr firmly, “and do not underestimate our cousins. Together we are few, but we are mighty.” A gentle inclination of his head. “Nor should you underestimate the dwarves. They have strength, yes, but more than that, they are cunning. You need only to look at their history to see what wondrous things they can do.”

“Have done,” corrected Brokkr with a faint, sly smile. “Have done… and can undo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm stuck in an online staff meeting where we've literally been sitting in silence waiting for our presenter to show up for 30 minutes. I needed a lift, and thought you all might, too. :D Feedback appreciated! Love you all!


	24. Chapter 24

Parker took the last few steps across the room, the trembling in his legs barely noticeable. Hopping up onto his personal Forge (carefully marked to avoid confusion with others in the room), he gave Eir a winning smile as she handed him his cane.

“Furthest yet,” he told her, not bothering to keep the glee out of his voice. “What’s _your_ verdict, doc? Am I cured?”

The healer gave a gentle chuckle at his words, one that was echoed by the two figures leaning against a far wall. Parker threw a proud grin toward Thor and Fandral; they had come a few minutes earlier for Parker’s final test and were now awaiting the healer’s final word.

“You’ll need to return-” her voice was overshadowed by dramatic groans of disappointment from the Asgardians, and she cleared her throat loudly as she fixed them with a piercing look. “As I was _say_ ing,” she continued, narrowing her eyes at Thor before turning back to Parker, “you’ll need to return periodically so that I can make sure the connections are still strong, but yes.” A wide smile split her normally calm face. “I believe that, for all intents and purposes, you are indeed cured.”

Parker whooped with joy, arms lifted in victory as Thor and Fandral drummed on the walls with their hands. Eir let the cacophony continue for a moment, then held up a hand. The three men silenced almost instantly.

“That leaves only one thing,” she said. “Your scars.”

“What about them?” Parker asked, fingers going automatically to the slowly-fading burn marks nearly hidden in the scruff on his jaw and neck.

“Do you want them?”

He blinked in the expectant silence, then blinked again. “I have a choice?”

“Of course,” came the reply. “I can heal them, just as I did your eyes. It’s just that… well, most warriors that come through my doors prefer to keep at least one or two for the look of things. They wear them as badges of honor, you might say.”

He glanced back at Thor and Fandral, feeling a bit as though he was a contestant on a game show and unsure of the correct response. As though in answer, Fandral pulled the neck of his tunic to one side, revealing what looked like a series of healed stab wounds, and Thor pointed to a spot just above the top of his boot with a grin.

“The ladies _love_ them,” Fandral stage-whispered, ignoring the pointed glare from Eir as he replaced his shirt, and Thor nodded in agreement. The healer sighed as she returned her attention to Parker.

“It’s a personal choice,” she said firmly, “and one you should make for yourself, no matter how hard they try to convince you.”

A faint blush crept along Parker’s cheeks. “Well,” he said at last, deliberately ignoring Thor and Fandral for the moment, “maybe one or two.”

Eir’s face twitched into an understanding smile as she gestured for him to lie back. “As you wish.”

She was done in only a few moments; at her nod, Parker sat up, then hopped down from the table. He studied the Forge’s images with Eir. “I left these and this one,” she explained, pointing to each in turn, “so you’ll have a few holes in your beard, but other than that, you won’t need to care for them. It’s mostly cosmetic.”

“Thank you.” The young man didn’t take his eyes off the slowly spinning image hovering above the table on which he’d spent the better part of what seemed like years. He exhaled sharply; it was almost a laugh. “I wish there were better words. I can’t… there’s no way I can repay you for all you’ve done.”

Eir didn’t look at him; instead, she kept her eyes on the Forge as well. “You live,” she replied after a moment, “as does Frigga’s son. There is little more I can ask for.”

Parker looked at Eir a little helplessly, and she chuckled softly, clearly recognizing his stricken expression. “Bluebells. I like bluebells.” She inclined her head toward the door, where Thor and Fandral were practically dancing from one foot to the other. “Now be on your way. Your friends are going to burst if I make them wait much longer.”

He swiveled his head toward the pair by the door. “Wait for _what_?”

Thor swept forward, snatching the cane from Parker’s hand and tossing it to Fandral, who caught it and saluted. Taking the young man by the arm, Thor tugged him toward the door.

“You’re a warrior, brother,” he said, “and it’s high time you were celebrated as one.”

***

Loki was already at the small table in the sitting room when Aeslin entered. She was nearly dressed for the day, but she fumbled a little with the still-unfamiliar fastenings as she came toward him. He straightened in his chair as he beckoned her, and she slid onto his lap.

“We’ve an invitation from Thor,” he said in greeting as he busied himself with her jacket, making minute adjustments and tightening laces. He let the ends dangle free as intended, wrapping one idly around his knuckle as tugged her forward for a kiss. His face was thoughtful as he pulled away. “More than an invitation, really - I would call it a summons if not for the gentle scent of desperation and the complete disregard for spelling. It can only mean one thing.”

“Odin?”

A faint smirk touched his lips. “Something worse, if my suspicions are correct. Far, _far_ worse.” Loki’s smile faded as he studied her face. “Ready for our first public foray?”

“I suppose,” she answered, and he traced his finger along her jaw.

“It will be all right, love. You’ve bested Chitauri by the score. Faced down Frost Giants. Fought side by side with a son of Odin. Tangled re _peat_ edly with the God of Mischief and come out on top _almost_ every time. Sometimes literally.” He wiggled his eyebrows, and she narrowed her eyes at him in return but didn’t rise to the bait.

“I may have failed every political science class I’ve ever taken an embarrassing number of times,” came her calm reply, “but I’m not deaf. I’ve heard the rumors.”

He didn’t bother to dissemble. “Each stupider or more outlandish than the last, as they generally are.” Loki smoothed his fingers along her hair and clasped his hands around her waist with an understanding look. “I won’t advise you to ignore them, because they’ll tell you more than you’ve ever wanted to know about the palace and its… more charming denizens. What I _will_ tell you is that the vast majority of them are wrong, if not completely fabricated. All the best ones are. You’re not a pet. You’re not an experiment. You’re not a project or a dalliance. You’re not a notch in my belt, bedpost or any other piece of furniture you might hear.” He tapped her gently on the nose. “And you know it.”

She wanted to bite back the words on her tongue; he could see that, but to his relief, she spoke them anyway.

“Then what am I?”

“Everything,” he answered without a thought, cupping her jaw in his hand and letting her feel the smooth metal of his ring against her skin. “You’re _every_ thing to me. They’ll learn that soon enough, and those that don’t?” A shrug. “Their own loss.” He kissed her again, slow and gentle, then met her eyes. “Ready now?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Excellent. The sooner we can get to Thor’s rooms, the better, I think.” Boosting her up from his lap, he twined his fingers with hers out of habit. His other hand was on the ornate handle before his brain caught up, and he stopped dead. She looked up in concern, and he shook his head with a slightly embarrassed grin as he untangled their hands and tucked hers around his arm instead.

“Children,” he said in explanation as he reached for the door once more. “Children hold hands. If everyone in this place is going to talk, it will be about something I want them to. I have a reputation to uphold, after all.” A final wink, and they stepped together into the brightly lit hallway.

They nodded and smiled at those they passed. Most gave a small bow, or perhaps flicked a curtsy as they went by, and Loki could feel the badly-hidden stares that followed them down the long corridor.

After Loki’s fall from the Bifrost, Thor had moved his rooms away from the wing they’d shared, not wanting memory to assault him at every turn. Loki didn’t blame him in the least, but it did make for rather a longer walk than he’d intended. Feeling Aeslin’s fingers tightening on his arm, he tossed up a small dampening spell to discourage eavesdroppers and set about putting her at a bit more ease.

“Are you at a disadvantage?” He picked up the thread of conversation as they passed a gaggle of lesser nobles who showered Loki with smiles while somehow managing to completely overlook his companion. He didn’t bother to acknowledge them; instead, he deliberately covered her hand with his, the green in his engagement band catching the morning light. “Absolutely, but not as big of one as you might think. Most on Asgard believe Midgard to be nothing more than a charming backwater village. After the dust settled from…” his voice faltered a little, but he went on, “from what I did, Thor apparently used his time on Midgard as a way to draw attention from what had _actually_ happened, with a little coaching from our mother. He positively _gushed_ about mortals - their ingenuity, their pluck, their charm. It shocked the court, probably Odin more than anyone, I think, but my gut tells me most Asgardians still have humans catalogued somewhere between trained monkeys and sentient houseplants.” A nod to an older couple; the woman inclined her head respectfully to Aeslin and gave Loki a knowing, friendly smile before moving on.

“Friends of yours?” Aeslin asked, faint relief in her voice.

“An orchard full of the best climbing trees in all the Realm,” Loki confirmed with a laugh. “Few things taste better than stolen fruit eaten a hundred feet off the ground, and you can see for _ages_ from up there. Her husband is one of mother’s head gardeners. The east ones, if I remember. They’re a bit trickier than some of the others.”

He trailed off as they arrived at Thor’s chambers. Loki barely bothered to knock before pushing the door open; Fandral met them in the antechamber with a cheery wave and led them further in. The sitting room was dark, and Loki took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. He tried to stifle the snort that rose when he realized what he was looking at, without success. The figure huddled on Thor’s chaise twitched a little.

Aeslin pressed a hand to her mouth, lips trembling with suppressed laughter.

“Shhh.” Parker’s voice drifted up from somewhere in the pile of furs. “You’re breathing too loud.”

Loki responded with a noise that, coming from anyone else, might have sounded like sympathy. He deliberately let his boots thump on the floor as he sauntered over to the heap on the cushions; Thor woke from his light doze at the sound, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he straightened. Loki fixed his brother with a glare.

“At least tell me he didn’t have any of Lir’s ‘special vintage.’”

“I may be a fool,” Thor replied airily as he stretched his arms over his head with a yawn, “but I’m no murderer. Give me _some_ credit, brother.”

Another laugh. “I give you more credit than you probably deserve, dearest brother, but the three of you together? That’s asking for a disaster; no wonder you didn’t tell me what you were planning.”

“We _tried_ ,” Fandral replied, feigning injured innocence, “but you must have been… otherwise engaged.” He gave an obvious leer, and Loki fixed him with a glare.

“Don’t even _try_ to blame me for this,” Loki told him sternly as he strode toward the table next to Thor’s chair. “And I’ll _thank_ you to keep your eyes to yourself, old man. Get your own goddess; that one’s mine.” A wink at Aeslin, who gave Fandral a smug grin in turn.

Reaching into his tunic, Loki extracted the vial he’d retrieved from his workshop upon receiving Thor’s summons. He pulled the stopper free with his teeth as he pointed to the carafe at Thor’s elbow. “Is that water?” he asked, voice slightly muffled by the cork in his mouth, but he didn’t wait for an answer. “It had better be water. Idiots.” He dumped the faintly luminous contents of the vial into the slender-necked flagon, sealed the top with his thumb and shook it rapidly as he approached Parker.

A gentle fizzing noise escaped as Loki shifted his thumb and held the bottle out toward the lump of furs. “Drink.”

“Kill me first.”

“I won’t have to if you drink.”

“Isn’t there another way? Can’t you just do some hand-wavey nonsense and get it over with? Have mercy, man.”

“ _Drink_.”

“ _No_ ,” came the reply from somewhere under a sable. “That's exactly what got me _into_ this mess. I’m never drinking again. Cured forever, thank you so much for asking. I’ll be using osmosis from here on out; Parker the Absorbent, they’ll call me. Wonder of the Nine Realms. I’ll be legendary, and after I die in a ripsnorting battle with a food dehydrator, you can say you knew me when.”

Loki rolled his eyes, even though he knew the other man likely wasn’t looking. “And _such_ stories I’ll be able to tell of your short and noble life,” he replied easily, “including the one about the alpaca.”

A contemplative silence settled over the bundle. “You wouldn’t dare,” Parker ventured after a moment.

“God of mischief. The list of what I do not dare is so _hilariously_ short as to be almost nonexistent. Come on. It’ll help. I promise.” He wiggled the flagon a little imperiously, and at last Parker worked a hand free to take the bottle from Loki, pushing himself up carefully as he did so. He kept eye contact with Loki as he downed the contents, somehow managing to keep his middle finger extended the whole time. Loki nodded solemnly as he reclaimed the bottle.

“Better. Fandral?” Loki said, not taking his eyes from Parker, “would you be so kind as to fetch clean clothing for the good doctor?”

The swordsman bowed with a flourish. “But of course. I won’t be a moment.”

“My thanks. Thor?”

“Ready,” he replied, already coming to his feet.

“Ready? Ready for _what_?!” Parker clutched the furs closer around himself with the air of a woman three times his age. “Now just wait one damn _second_. Get away. I did my part. I drank. You said I’d be fine!”

“And you will,” Loki soothed, a bit of a wicked smile finally breaking across his lips, “once we’re done with step two.”

***

“I really don’t see why you’re so angry,” Loki commented airily as they stepped onto a delicate stone bridge that led away from the market square. “You’re cured, aren’t you? Took less than ten minutes, all told, which is a fair sight faster than anything Midgard can cook up. And just look at you! Walking under your own power in the glorious light of day, no need for your cane or even a _sniff_ of shade. Limp barely noticeable, scars on point, and a healthy appetite, too, from the look of things. Right as rain or better in less time than it took Fandral to find you matching socks. One would _think_ you’d be pleased.”

“Doctor Kindle,” Parker said, rummaging through the lunch basket he’d purchased at one of the stalls they’d passed, “will you please inform the Dark Lord Fauntleroy that if whatever this is weren’t so delicious and I weren’t starving, I would be shoving the whole mess up his perfectly aristocratic nose right now? Also that given entirely-too-recent circumstances, the phrase _right as rain_ should immediately be stricken from his vocabulary for the foreseeable future.”

Aeslin cleared her throat professionally and turned to Loki. “Doctor Parker would like me to inform you that you look amazing in those pants. Also that he would _very_ much like to share his treats with you.” She winked at Parker, who rolled his eyes at her.

“You know,” the biologist said as he munched on some candied fruit, “I am _really_ starting to question your loyalty.”

She gasped dramatically, hand to her chest; he poked a sugared berry into her mouth before folding the lunch bag into a surprisingly tidy package and tucking it into the pocket of his long, fitted coat. He had embraced a more Asgardian style of clothing, unashamedly admitting that it was pretty much the best cosplay ever, and as he had with Aeslin, Forseti had been sure to put a personal spin on Parker’s clothing. The effect was quite striking, and Loki had to admit that the young man was fitting in remarkably well. It wasn’t a shock, by any means; Parker had proven time and again that there was far more to him than what was visible on the surface.

“So why _didn’t_ you two come with us?” Parker’s voice was curious. “I mean, I know what Fandral thinks, but…”

“We never heard him,” Aeslin admitted. “We were both dead asleep; I don’t think he knocked half as hard as he claims he did. He was just so cheerful about it that it seemed a little unkind to correct him, and he’s been very kind to us.”

Parker walked in a thoughtful silence for a few steps. “Why is that?” he asked Loki, feud momentarily forgotten. “I mean, I get the feeling that any of Thor’s other friends wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire. What makes him different?”

Loki shrugged, tucking an errant strand of hair behind his ear. “That’s just how he is; he’s never been quite like the others. He’s more… complex than he seems. The others are loyal companions to Thor, God of Thunder, Heir Apparent, Golden Son of the All-Father. Fandral is loyal to Thor. _Just_ Thor. Most people don’t see the difference, and he takes great pains to ensure it stays that way. He’s as loud and obnoxious as the rest of them when the situation calls for it, sometimes more so, but I’m not surprised that he was the one to step forward. Glad? Yes. _Gods_ , yes. I have nightmares about what Thor might have done without him. Surprised? Absolutely not.”

He led them through an archway into a large, open room; sunlight filtered down through the filigreed ceiling. Parker glanced around. “What’s this?”

“Depends,” Loki replied with a gentle smirk. “Are we back on speaking terms?”

The young man studied him with eyes slightly narrowed. “Provisionally.”

“Then provisionally, this is my offering. Follow me, please.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Thor welcomed you into the ranks of the Asgardian elite the best way he knew how,” Loki explained as they passed through a second arch and into a winding corridor. “My gift is a little different, but it’s something I think you’ll appreciate just as much.”

“Which is?”

Loki’s smile widened; he pushed open the nondescript door at the end of the hallway with an elegant bow and ushered them both through. “Welcome, my dearest Doctors, to the Royal Libraries.”

***

“Let me do the talking,” Loki said over Parker’s quiet but rhythmic hyperventilation. He glanced down at Aeslin, who seemed completely unaware of the grin on her own face, and he twined his fingers with hers, grateful to be free of the social mores in the streets above. He took note of the shadowy figures seated at the long tables at the other end of the room. Librarians, ostensibly, there to help the earnest seeker of knowledge to find what they need with the least amount of trouble. In reality, they were guardians, fierce and capricious as dragons, but luck seemed to be smiling today; these were two with which Loki was very familiar.

Ragnbjorg smiled broadly as they approached. “Well, then. It would appear the rumors are true; Elin’s prize pupil has come home again at last, and he’s brought friends. Glad you’ve decided to grace us with your presence. Ingvar was almost sure you’d forgotten us.”

“Never,” Loki replied with an equally brilliant grin as he leaned across the desk to brush a kiss to her cheek. “I was just saving the best for last, that’s all.”

The older woman scoffed gently. “And the fact that Odin is elsewhere has _nothing_ to do with you bringing two _ókunnugir_ into the libraries today, of all days.”

“I’ve meant to bring them down for ages,” he responded, blue eyes dancing. “Wanted you to meet them, but I had to wait for Eir’s leave.”

Ingvar chuckled, a friendly if raspy sound. “Why would you need her permission? These are not the Healer’s libraries.”

“They’re not,” Loki agreed simply, “but we _were_ her patients.”

That stopped the man, and he looked at the three with a new curiosity in his face. “Very well, then,” he said after a moment. “You know the price to enter.”

A grin. “That I do.” Loki released Aeslin’s hand, flexing his fingers and cracking his knuckles with a flourish. “Shall I tell you the tale of the Fallen Prince? It’s really _quite_ spectacular. A prince, powerful and arrogant, crosses the All-Father one too many times.” As he spoke, Loki spun illusions, drawing them up from the surface of the polished table like wisps of clouds or strings of taffy. They danced and hovered in the air, teasing more than revealing their true form. “As a result, he is cast out, sent to the very ash heap of the cosm- _ouch!_ Do you mind? That’s my foot.”

Aeslin looked at him, grey-green eyes wide with injured innocence. “Is it? I thought it was mine.”

“Really?” came the reply from the other side as Parker shifted his weight. “I thought it was mine. How embarrassing.”

Loki sighed theatrically and looked at Ragnbjorg, who was watching him with chin propped on one hand and a bemused smile on her face. “ _Regard_ less. The prince is sent to Midgard, hidden gem in Odin’s crown, _much_ to his dismay.” A tiny figure fell from Loki’s fingertips, tumbling end over end to land on the tabletop in a mushroom of dust that would make Wile E. Coyote proud. “Is it a punishment? An assignment? A lesson? A bit of all three, perhaps. It is a long, tragic tale, full of woe, laughter, danger, poor fashion choices and an inordinate amount of swearing. Perhaps too long for this venue, so I’ll only tell you that the prince helped to save the world, got the girl, and learned valuable lessons about friendship along the way before he was dragged back home like a sack of stale bannocks, and here we all are.” A flicker of his fingers, a tiny show of fireworks, and the illusions vanished as quickly as they’d come, leaving a scent of roses and woodsmoke in the air.

There was a vast silence.

“That,” Ingvar said, “was perhaps the _worst_ story I’ve ever heard.”

“Trite,” agreed Ragnbjorg with a wink. “Lazy. Completely unbelievable, on top of it. It’s as though you’re not even _trying_ anymore, Trickster.”

“A bit too much on my mind, I"m afraid,” Loki admitted as he reached into the pouch on his belt. He extracted two wrapped packages, ones that somehow seemed slightly too large to fit in the leather bag, handing one first to Ragnbjorg, then to Ingvar. “Which is why I also brought these.”

A laugh as Ingvar opened his bag; a delicate, savory scent wafted out, and he closed it again rapidly. “I knew there was a reason you were my favorite.”

“Shameless,” Ragnbjorg tsked. “Positively shameless.” She waved a hand. “Off you go then; watch your step, and keep at least one eye on your companions. The _hverabrauð_ ’s escaped again.”

“My thanks.” Loki pressed another kiss to her wrinkled cheek, took Aeslin’s hand again and passed through the portal behind the librarians.

A breath of wind, a brief sense of displacement, and then they were in the true entrance hall to the Royal Libraries. Loki led the way across the warm, well-lit room; Parker stayed close and tried not to look nervous.

“The _what_ is loose?”

“Once upon a time, Thor thought that being a king meant that one needed to know everything, regardless of how difficult or simple it was,” Loki said in answer. “A noble goal, to be sure, but what he didn’t take into account is that the seated king had four millennia of experience on him; Thor was little more than a child. It didn’t stop him, though, and he decided that one of his first conquests would be baking. It seemed simple enough at the time. He made his dough, put it in the sealed jar as he was supposed to and buried it near a hot spring to bake. Then, being Thor, he promptly forgot about it on his way to more important matters. The thing had been imbued with just enough magic that by the time it rose enough to break the seal on its jar, it had become sentient. It spent a few weeks terrorizing the local villagers before being captured. Now it’s kept here; no one really had the heart to destroy it.”

“But if it was terrorizing villages…”

“Perhaps not the best description. It was more of an irritation than anything else. It’s just… very chatty. And sticky. Needy, you might say.” He snorted a little at his choice of words and earned an elbow to the ribs for his trouble.

“I cannot believe Lord Silvertongue is resorting to puns,” Parker said, rolling his eyes.

“Believe it,” replied Aeslin, her voice bearing the memory of one too many late-night competitions between Loki and Banner.

Loki chuckled but didn’t disagree. “Not to worry, though; when the thing escapes, it invariably ends up in the Arboretum, especially on sunny days like this one. We’re headed in the opposite direction. Follow me, won’t you?”

***

The way was longer than Loki remembered; it appeared that more than one room had been added in his absence, including what appeared to be an expansion to the caged book collection that had already taken up most of a wing. The gatherers had been quite busy in Loki’s absence, and he made a mental note to come back later and see if they’d found anything particularly interesting or vicious. A few hissed or growled; Loki glared back at them coldly, and they sulked and cowered. Loki nodded inwardly. They could be beasts all they’d like, but they were on _his_ turf now, and it was well they learned that as quickly as possible.

 _His turf._ The thought caught at him, nipping nearly as hard as the grimoire he smacked away from Parker at the last minute. The palace was no longer his home. Asgard was no longer a sanctuary, but this… this place would always be his.

The thought vanished as he came upon the door he’d been seeking, feeling magic seep through the hinges and around the edges like a cool breeze. He put his hand on the surface, sending a tease of _seidr_ through his palm to make sure there was no resistance. When there was none, he breathed an inaudible sigh of relief and pushed it open. Then, taking one of both Parker’s and Aeslin’s hands in each of his, Loki stepped forward into nothing.

The two beside him stumbled, as he knew they would, but he held firmly, giving them something on which to focus as they found their feet once more. The catwalk they’d stepped onto was nearly transparent, lit only by the occasional flicker of lightning.

“Thor gave you a celebration,” Loki said as Parker stared, “so I thought I’d give you what everyone _actually_ wants.” A grin. “Validation.”

Odin’s model of the cosmos stretched before them, seeming to go on for miles. Easily six stories tall, perhaps more, it sprawled both above their heads and beneath their feet; Loki had brought them in the door perched a little below the middle. Stars and realms hung like jewels in the darkness, the filaments between them glowing with the same fitful light as the path on which they stood.  Loki found Midgard, the marbled blue and white gem he’d always skipped over on his way to more exciting things, and his throat tightened a bit. He thought of the spell he’d found, the trap Odin had left and the one he fought into submission every morning before the sun even rose, and he wondered anew if he would die in this place. If he would ever see home again.

 _Home_.

Three years ago he would have laughed at the very idea, and now he could think of nothing else. He looked down at Aeslin, who was crushing his hand in hers as she drank in the sight in front of her, tears on her cheeks. On the other side, Parker was murmuring something that sounded like a prayer, a series of increasingly profane metaphors, or some combination of both. Loki smiled, remembering a similar reaction upon Parker’s introduction to the Hulk, and glanced over. The young man didn’t look back; instead his eyes swept across the vast space before him, trying to see everything at once.

“I would kill to let Erik see this,” he said reverently.

“So would I.”

Parker took his hand from Loki’s unselfconsciously and swiped at his nose. “Now see, the difference between you and me is that _you_ might actually do it.”

“Might have,” Loki agreed. “Might not be so easy now. I’m mellowing in my old age, you know.”

An ungainly sound, somewhere between a snort and a sniffle. “Uh huh.”

Loki grinned and let it slide as he pointed with the hand that still held Aeslin’s. “We were right, though. Look. Midgard, Muspelheim, and then Vanaheim a little further out, in almost perfect alignment. Convergence.” He studied further, lost in thought until Parker’s apologetic voice broke in.

“Which one’s Vanaheim?”

Loki’s voice was distracted. “The one with the rings.” There it was. Tucked neatly behind Muspelheim and barely visible. A small realm, dark where it wasn’t wrinkled with angry cracks of red. Jotunheim.

“What rings?”

Aeslin answered for him. “On that one. Right behind- hold up. They’re gone again.” She broke off, but her voice startled Loki from his reverie. He blinked and looked at her, then the biologist, who was squinting toward the line of worlds. Sudden realization dawned as another question was answered.

“Here,” he said. “Close your eyes for a minute.”

The young man obeyed, and Loki pulled a wisp of _seidr_ from the thrumming power swirling through the room, sending it through his fingers and into Parker’s head. The boy’s brow knit for a moment, but he opened his eyes again at Loki’s request. He stared at the glittering green-brown world for so long that Loki feared it hadn’t worked. He was about to try again when Parker spoke, the faint gold ring now visible in his irises swirling gently.

“The color of magic,” he said, half to himself. “Holy _shit_. Pratchett was right all along!” He laughed, a sound of pure joy that echoed through the chamber and looked at Loki. Something caught his eye, though, and curious, Loki followed the boy’s gaze to where Aeslin stood. She looked back at them both a little nervously, brow going up in a familiar arc.

“Do you always look like that?”

“As far as I know?” she replied helplessly, glancing up at Loki.

“Yes and no,” he replied in answer to both questions. “I would assume most of the time that you do, but it’s hard to see in certain light or when your power’s dormant. I only started noticing it after my magic was restored, and I think he can see it partially because of the sheer amount of magic in this room. Like follows like, after all.” He grinned over his shoulder at Parker. “Pretty cool, though, right?”

“Way cool.”

“I’d just like to inform the two of you that this is the weirdest conversation I’ve had in _days_.” Aeslin looked at her hands, then brushed them awkwardly down her jacket and tucked them into her pockets. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Loki admitted, “but just know that when I tell you you’re luminous, there’s more truth to it than you know.”

She studied his face thoughtfully, then turned back toward the construct. She was clearly more than a bit self-conscious, so Loki focused the conversation back on Parker.

“Well? Are you going to explore, or not? This is the opportunity of _several_ lifetimes. Most Asgardians don’t even know this exists, much less the other realms.” He shifted his foot a little, sending magic through the sole of his boot into the path. The way brightened, light spreading through the web of bridges and catwalks that wandered through the construct. “A man could get lost in there for hours, even days, and never hope to see it all. You’d best get started.”

“On those?” There was a gentle undercurrent of panic in Parker’s tone. “That’s the only way to get around?”

“They’re sturdier than they look,” Loki replied, voice soothing, “and you won’t fall. I promise.” He allowed a small smirk to cross his lips. “It was built by and for very powerful, very old, and occasionally _very_ drunk old men. Trust me. You can’t fall unless you know how, and the ways are easier than they look. Just head in a direction, and the paths will help. You wouldn’t need your cane, even if you had it.” He reached again into his pouch, handing Parker a stack of parchment bound with twine, a stylus tucked into the knot. “Here. For your notes.”

It was enough; the boy was off like a shot, moving confidently along a strand that led toward the nearest of Niflheim’s moons.

“Aren’t you going to join him?” he asked Aeslin once Parker had disappeared behind the icy realm.

“In a minute,” she said as he emerged on the other side, a wide grin on his face and already scribbling notes onto parchment. She took one hand from her pocket, sliding an arm around Loki’s waist and leaning against him slightly. “It’s almost more fun to watch him.”

Loki draped an arm across her shoulders in a familiar, easy motion, tracing his thumb idly along her jaw as he watched Parker with her. “Of all the beings in all the realms that could have picked me up when I fell,” he said after a long moment. He shook his head a little. “And I don’t deserve either of you. Any of you.”

“Maybe not,” she said with a shrug, “but we’re not arguing.” She nudged him softly. “So neither should you.”

He didn’t reply, merely pressing his lips to her forehead for a moment. The mood was broken by Parker bellowing something about being able to see his house from where he stood, and Loki chuckled.

“You know,” he began, “I seem to remember that once upon a time, you and I had a discussion about this place.”

Her face lit with a warm smile, memory on her face. “On the way to the Warehouse.”

“Hmmm.” He pulled her a little closer, resting his chin on her hair. “I was thinking of the _other_ conversation. The one in the library in Malibu.”

“Ah,” she said, laughter in her voice as she pulled back to look up at him. “ _That_ one.”

“ _That_ one. I mean, to be honest, it was an idle daydream. A pleasant thought to get me through the long nights while you were in London without me. I wasn’t ever going to set foot here again, after all, but now that we’re here…” His voice trailed off as he ran his fingers down her spine and grinned. “Seems a shame to waste the opportunity.”

“It does,” she replied. “It really does.”

***

_It does not happen immediately, of course. She gives him a wink and then takes off after Parker, running along the filaments without a hint of fear, and he has no choice but to give chase to both of them. It is hours before he can extricate the two from the construct, and only by promising Parker that they’ll be able to return soon. The young man’s sheaf of parchment is already full._

_By the time they surface again at the entrance of the library, evening has fallen. They have dinner in Parker’s rooms; Thor joins them for the short while he can spare between petitioners. There is no reason they cannot be seen in the palace at large, no reason that they cannot visit the feast tables, but all agree it is best to keep a low profile until the All-Father returns and the future is a little less muddy. They talk long into the night before Parker finally admits his exhaustion. They bid him goodnight and return to Loki’s rooms just long enough to retrieve cloaks against the light rain that has begun to fall. They do not even pretend that they are staying. They nod and smile to those still in the hallways before making their way into the cool night air, crossing the now-silent marketplace and returning to the library._

_They have passed Ragnbjorg’s test, and as she is head librarian, those now seated at the entrance tables welcome both Loki and his companion with no concern. They merely nod their heads in greeting; the portal flares behind them, and Loki and Aeslin step through._

_She takes her time on this visit, stopping to explore this or that, tugging him into this alcove or another to see what might be hidden. He allows it, knowing full well what she is truly doing and glad to see the weight gone from her shoulders, if only for a moment. This is not a sickroom. This is not a palace where she is not sure how welcome she truly is. In these rooms empty of people and stacked to the rafters with knowledge and mystery, she does not need to hide. She does not have to be silent or complacent or behave in the least, and he does not realize until this moment how stifled she has been here. How much he has missed her vibrance. He sees in that moment what she has done for his sake. Again._

_He catches her hand as she passes, pulling her close for a kiss, but she merely smiles, nips the tip of his finger and tells him to show her. To show her everything, all the things he told her about on that trip through the dark woods of West Virginia so long ago, and he smiles and takes her back to Odin’s construct. It is the work of seconds to pierce the spell that keeps wanderers safely on the path; he looks back at her with a smile, asks her to follow and promises her that he will not let her fall. Then he throws himself into space._

_He lands on the cleverly-hidden machinery that links Svartalfheim with the largest of its moons; she drops silently next to him. He takes her hand and leads her through the workings of the beast, showing her the paths of his boyhood. They leap from cog to wheel, from spar to platform, two gods at play, and he takes her to the spot just behind Alfheim. Where once it was too small, it is now far too large for what they want, as the spheres have had ample time to shift in the centuries that have passed. They continue their explorations; she grazes her fingers through the outermost of Vanaheim’s rings, trailing stardust as she goes, and at last he finds what they’ve been looking for all along. A spot nestled between Niflheim and a cluster of faint stars; it is dimly lit by the pale, clean light emanating from the ice realm._

_They are almost hesitant at first; it has been far too long for either of them, but much has changed in the interim. Loss and recovery. Revelation. The hours he spent in his Jotun form, broken and sobbing in her arms. He cups her jaw, and she turns to kiss his palm. The hands she will never fear, she told him, regardless of what they look like and what else they have done._

_She is nervous, as well, he can tell. Worried that she will hurt him somehow, that his wound is not fully healed, that she risks losing him again as payment for one moment of bliss. He soothes her fears away as only he can, slowly, sweetly and very,_ very _thoroughly._

_They lie twined together afterward, her cloak as a pillow and his wrapped around them both. They doze lightly amid planets and stars, never for too long as one invariably wakes the other with a touch, a kiss, a whisper. Hours pass before they allow themselves real sleep, her back against his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around her._

_It is near dawn when he is awoken by a gentle, familiar thrumming. A faint shift in the magic around them, the merest hint of movement below their cocoon. She comes awake almost immediately, lifting her head from his chest, and he brushes a lock of hair from her face with a reassuring smile._

_“Nothing to worry about,” he says with a calmness he almost doesn’t feel. “It’s only the Bifrost. Shakes up the whole place, I’m afraid, but that’s what you get when a wormhole goes off just a few miles away. It would appear the All-Father has returned.”_

_She closes her eyes. “_ Please _tell me that it’s just a coincidence he came home right after we may or may not have defiled one of his most prized possessions.”_

_“It’s just a coincidence,” he repeats solemnly, trying unsuccessfully to smother a laugh as he matches her tone perfectly. He rolls over, pinning her gently beneath him. “And to prove it, we’ll do it again now that he’s home. Widen our data set. Like all good scientists do.”_

_She shakes her head as wraps a leg around his waist, curling her fingers in his hair. “Well,” she laughs, “hard to argue with that. You’re a_ very _good scientist, after all.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience. <3 I've missed you guys. Feedback appreciated! Love you all! <3
> 
> A/N: ókunnugir: foreigners or outsiders (roughly)
> 
> Parker is referring to octarine, the color that magic makes in Terry Pratchett's books. 
> 
> The conversation Loki is referring to is found in the one shot _On The Shoulders of Giants_. 
> 
> There are a couple of pieces of music that inspired this chapter in particular. The links below are to the YouTube videos of them.  
> https://youtu.be/9P4kjROkn8I
> 
> https://youtu.be/USzlcxkGAeM
> 
> Odin's model is based heavily off Aughra's Observatory in _The Dark Crystal_, only approximately seven stories tall and at least as wide.
> 
> And yes, that is 100% a Bag of Holding that Loki's carrying around. It's of his own invention.


	25. Chapter 25

_There is an urgency to the palace now, one that was not there before. He can sense it the moment he and Aeslin pass through the portal leading out of the library. They nod to the keepers as they do so. Once they are out of sight, however, he pulls shadow and light, shielding them from any who would see. He felt safe in Odin’s construct, well hidden from even the All-Father’s eye, but out here, he is suddenly skittish. He thought himself prepared for what might happen when Odin returned. Now he is not so sure, and that troubles him. He keeps the illusion tightly around them both until they reach his chambers and silently slip inside._

_She is feeling nervous as well; he thinks at first that she is merely feeding off his mood, but he realizes it is more than that. He has regained his magic and his strength; Parker has all but completely healed, and for a moment, she has been able to relax. Now that time is over, and the future is not so clear. They decide that as soon as they are presentable, they will find Parker and Thor. There is comfort - and advantage - in numbers._

_They bathe rapidly, and she allows him to use just enough magic to dry her nearly waist-length hair to save time. She dresses just as quickly, adjusting laces and ties and pulling her boots on. He tries to match her speed, but his fingers are slowed by a thought that surfaces. She needs to know. He cannot keep it from her any longer, not with Odin home. Time may be growing shorter by the moment, and though it will be cruel to tell her, it would be worse not to._

_He smooths his fingers through his hair, then tugs on his boots. She is prowling as she waits for him, nervous energy practically spilling from her fingertips, and he catches her hand as she passes._

_“We need to talk.”_

_He can tell she is barely listening, and she does not look at him; her eyes are on the door. “We shouldn’t keep them waiting,” she says, as though the others know they are coming. “We can talk when we get there. I don’t know how much time we’ll have; we have to be ready.”_

_The words strike home harder than she intends them to, and his fingers tighten unconsciously around hers. “Please,” he says. “They can wait a little longer. This can’t.”_

_She freezes at the words; his heart breaks at the sudden, added wariness in her face and the feeling that if he breathes wrong, if he so much as loosens his fingers, she will bolt. She has faced enough in the past two years - in the past two_ months _\- to fill a thousand thousand years, and he despises himself for giving her one more burden. One more choice. One more secret to bear._

_“It won’t take long,” he continues, “I promise. I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I wasn’t sure when or how; it appears Odin has forced my hand.” A soft laugh. “Again.” At her look, he gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. She stands in front of his chair as if unsure of what to do. He takes both her hands in his. “It’s important,” he says gently, and he sees the words reach her after a moment. She nods and slides onto his lap, knees against his hips. It’s how they always discuss the important things, whether it be which movie to see or whose turn it is to do dishes or how exactly the universe works. He has a reason for asking her to sit like this, one that she may not see at first but one that they will both be thankful for by the time he is finished, he thinks. He laces his fingers behind her back._

_“All right,” she says, exhaling slowly as she rests her hands on his sides, just above his hips. Her thumb traces a familiar pattern, following lines that lie beneath his tunic. “Let’s talk.”_

_Slowly, as gently and clinically as he can, he tells her of Odin’s spell, the one triggered by the Bridge. He explains its creation and configuration as best he can tell it, and he tells her of his barely-successful struggle to keep it contained. To keep himself from being unmade. By the time he is finished, her lips are white with rage and his arms ache from keeping her where she is. He could not hold her if she truly did not wish it; they both know it, and it is a testament to her strength that she has stayed put for as long as she has. Her voice is tight when she finally speaks._

_“Blood magic.”_

_“Yes,” he replies. “I’m not sure when he did it, or how, but all the marks are there. It answers only to its creator.”_

_“And what happens when its creator no longer lives? What then?”_

_“To my dying breath,” he tells her, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, “I will swear that I have no idea why you asked me that. He would destroy you, love, and for nothing.”_

_“Nothing.” The word is clipped, and the hair on his arms prickles._

_“Even if you_ could _kill him without leveling half a realm in the process, it would make no difference. The spell persists through death. Not the most practical of magic, to be sure, but effective.” He gave her a faint smile. “Too effective, I’m afraid.”_

_Her eyes close at that, and she is quiet for a long moment. “How long before it ki-” she stops herself, swallows hard and tries again. “Before it takes you? How long until...” She cannot finish the sentence, and he brushes his hand along her cheek._

_“I’ll fight it as long as I can; I swear it.” He cups a hand behind her neck and leans forward to press a kiss to her hair. “I don’t know how long that is, though. Years? Weeks? It’s impossible to say. Not as long as you need me to. That I do know.” His hand trails down her neck, her arm, and his fingers twine with hers, the black of his ring stark against her skin. “It was different on Earth. I could convince myself that it would be enough. A hundred years, give or take if we were lucky. We’d be together. I knew that I wouldn’t live forever, but I thought… I hoped perhaps that maybe you wouldn’t either.” A light exhale. “Selfish, I know, and Eir has since informed me otherwise.” He swallows hard and tries to recenter. “I’m sure there are many things Frigga wishes to discuss, and I can almost promise you that our marriage is among them.” His fingers tighten around hers. “I cannot ask this of you, Aeslin, not now. I promised I would stay, and I cannot keep that promise. Nor can I ask_ you _to keep it.” He stares at their linked hands. “I cannot ask you to bind yourself to me. It would be cruelty.”_

_She lifts her free hand to his cheek, threading her fingers through his hair before bringing them to his jaw. A gentle pressure, and she lifts his face until he is forced to meet her eyes._

_“I knew,” she says quietly; he stares at her a little helplessly, and she strokes a thumb across his lower lip. “I’ve known for over a year that I’m immortal, or practically so. Thor told me. Heimdall told him. They thought…” a slight laugh. “They thought I might want to know. To be prepared. I’ve known since long before you asked me to marry you. It didn’t matter then how long I would have you, and it doesn’t matter now. A week. A century. This changes nothing between us.”_

_He is torn between elation and horror. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” he tells her desperately._

_“Then that makes two of us,” she replies sternly. “I have no idea what it means to live forever, and when it all comes down to it, neither do you. You’ve never done it, either, and don’t spout history and books at me. You and I both know what life is like. I could die tomorrow. You could find a miracle. It doesn’t matter.” Her voice is fierce. “There_ are _no promises, Loki. No guarantees. I learned that when I was six years old, and it took me until the day you asked me to marry you to understand that it was okay. We don’t need guarantees. We do what we can with what we’re given. You gave me a ring and your heart, and if you think for one damn_ second _you’re getting_ either _of those back, you’re wrong. That’s what you can’t ask, Loki. You can’t ask me to leave you like this. You can’t ask me to walk away from you, because I won’t._ That’s _cruelty, Loki. Not the other way around.”_

_“The truth will come out.” He cannot let it go, much as he aches to. “Wife to a murderer. Widow of a monster. You’ll be alone. Cast out. They’ll destroy you.”_

_A small, familiar smile crosses her face. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” she says. “Frigga seems to do all right.”_

***

It was like watching a very small, very badly choreographed version of the Ice Capades. Parker had thought Loki’s nerves before the wedding bad, but he now realized they were nothing compared to what he was now witnessing.

One God of Thunder, currently pacing a vaguely triangular groove in the floor between the table, one window and the bookcase. His path was intersected almost halfway from the window by that of one God of Mischief, who was prowling a restless ellipse that began at a chaise in the corner and circled past two tables and a different window. Crossing both brothers’ paths at three different points was one hypercharged superhuman with entirely too many degrees and not enough thumbnails to last the afternoon, at the rate she was going. There had been a near-collision almost an hour earlier, but nothing exciting since then. Parker took both his feet off the ottoman in front of him, bringing them to the floor quietly. He’d been loud the first time he’d done it, and he was _sure_ he was going to get an earful from Forseti about the lightning damage to his boots.

“All right,” he said, picking up a thread of conversation that had been dropped quite some time before, “but can at least _one_ of you sit down? This is worse than standing in front of the baggage claim conveyor for too long; you guys are making me dizzy.”

To his credit, Thor managed to stay seated for almost a full minute; by the end, however he was practically vibrating with the effort of sitting still.

“He returned almost a full day ago,” Thor said as he came to his feet again, clasping his hands behind his back so tightly that the muscles of his forearms knotted. He restarted his circuit around the room, dodging Aeslin without actually noticing her. “Not a single word in all that time. Nothing but that.” He gestured to the parchment on the table where Parker sat. “A message merely telling us to wait until he calls. Why does he do this? Does he expect one of us to break? Fall to our knees and make confession? How long can he keep this up?”

It was clear that he didn’t expect a response, but Loki answered as he crossed a square of sunlight on the floor for the second time in as many minutes. “Gefjun’s field.”

Thor jolted to a stop at just the wrong moment; Aeslin walked straight into him and bounced off like a particularly profane wad of paper.

“He wouldn’t dare. Not now.”

“Gev-what?” Parker asked, reaching calmly out to balance Aeslin as she came to an unsteady halt next to the table where he was sitting.

“Eight days in the royal antechamber. No food. A water carafe that filled halfway every sunset, and our only company was one of _the_ most incompetent bards in Asgard’s storied history.”

“Gods,” Thor winced at the memory. “And not even a silencing spell.”

Parker raised his eyebrows at Loki, who shrugged. “Use of magic added a day to our wait; we learned that the hard way. So instead, we suffered.”

“Okay,” came the reply, “but _why_ did you suffer? What the hell did you two do?”

“The details aren’t important.”

Squeezing Aeslin’s hand briefly, Parker let go to allow her to start pacing again. “I disagree,” he said, fixing Loki with a stern gaze. “I happen to think the details are ex _treme_ ly impor-”

The doors to the sitting room were flung suddenly open. Aeslin gave a strangled yelp as she turned toward the noise; a small vase in her line of sight exploded.

Fandral brushed petals and water droplets from his tunic as he raised one eyebrow, but said nothing. She mouthed an apology to him, and he responded with a fractional shake of his head as he cleared his throat.

“Odin All-Father requires your presence in his audience chamber,” announced the blond warrior with a brief bow to Thor. He indicated the pair of Einherjar standing at attention behind him. “You are to accompany us there immediately.”

“Finally,” Loki said, straightening his jacket as he stepped forward.

“ _Just_ Thor,” Fandral replied. A slight wince crossed his face as he gestured to Parker; it was gone almost before it could be seen. “And the boy.”

Loki stopped mid-step. He seemed unsurprised - more resigned than anything else. “Ah. So that’s how it’s going to be.”

“ _How_ ever,” the other went on as rapidly as he could, “I also bring greetings from Queen Frigga, who requests the pleasure of her son and almost-daughters’ company at their earliest opportunity, hopefully in time for tea, though damned if I know what that even means. I’m guessing sooner rather than later? She’s in her solarium, I think. Gardens? Dammit. Somewhere. There’s a page waiting to take you there when you’re ready, I think, or maybe she’ll send one? I honestly wasn’t paying that much attention to what she was saying, since it was made _abundantly_ clear that I’m not _her_ messenger boy.” The wince returned as he realized what he’d said aloud. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, gathering himself as best he could. “I didn’t say that. Gods below, what a day.” He looked between Thor and Parker. “Just… now. Please.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Parker grabbed his cane and stood. Thor led the way; Fandral and Parker fell into step behind him. The Einherjar trailed a little further back after a heavy glance from the God of Thunder.

The walk through the halls was long, which was likely no mistake. More than a few stared as they passed, curious at the sight of the All-Father’s heir being escorted like a prisoner. Fandral kept his eyes on Thor’s back for entire time, carriage straight and stern.

They arrived at the larger of Odin’s audience chambers; Thor glanced back at Fandral and Parker. Fandral shook his head fractionally. “He stays with me. You’re to go in first; much of what he has to say is for your ears alone. Unless he starts shouting, and then I’m sure we’ll _all_ know.” He gave Thor a weak smile and received an understanding look in return.

“I’ll be back soon,” was all Thor said, and then he nodded to the Einherjar. One pushed open the inner door, and both guards followed him in. The door closed again with a whisper of sound, leaving Fandral and Parker in silence. The warrior dropped into a chair, thumping his head against the back of the chair with a sigh. Parker perched awkwardly on a bench nearby, trying very hard not to think of what might be coming.

“I hate this,” Fandral said after a long minute. At Parker’s curious glance, he went on. “All of this. I’m a warrior. One of the Warriors Three, heroes of legend and song. Do you know what they say now? ‘Behold! The Warriors Three, and oh, look! They’ve brought along the Lady Fandral. How droll.’ Don’t mistake me; I’ve been called worse, and for far better reason. I offered my help, and if that meant being a nursemaid or an extra pair of hands or someone to take a bit of the weight off, it made no difference to me at the time. It was something that needed to be done, and no one else was going to do it. I don’t regret it.”

Parker raised one eyebrow, and Fandral gave a rueful chuckle in response. “I don’t _often_ regret it,” he amended. “Hardly ever, in fact. The benefits of a friendship with you and the Lady Aeslin usually far outweigh any nonsense. _Usually_.”

“Gosh,” Parker replied with a slight roll of his eyes. “Thanks?”

That earned him a true laugh, and Fandral leaned forward in his seat, resting his forearms on his knees. “It’s just - it’s never been like this before. Thor and the Warriors Three. It used to be all one sentence; once, there was nothing he kept from us, or from Sif, but now that’s changed. _Every_ thing’s changed since it all went to Hel at his coronation.

“It was stupid to go to Jotunheim. I know it was, and we knew it _then_ , but no one said no to Thor. Not when he was in a mood like that. _No_ one could reach him but Loki, and even _he_ wasn’t always successful. As you’ve probably been able to tell.”

“Picked up a hint here and there,” admitted Parker.

A snort. “ _Loki_. King for a day, and what a day _that_ was. Dead until he wasn’t, then was, then wasn’t again. Gods, but he’s a hard one to keep up on. I mean, we knew he went missing when the Bifrost fell, presumed dead. Then Thor brings him home none the worse for wear, swears Sif and I to secrecy about his visit, and he’s gone again before you know it.” He gestured vaguely to his forehead. “It’s hazy. I had memories of the days when he returned the first time, but they were disjointed. They made no sense. I’d dismissed them as a particularly vivid dream until I saw Aeslin again. I realized that I knew her. That we’d met before, but it wasn’t clear when or how. I knew the second I saw her that something had changed. Someone had changed _me_ , and it had to do with Loki. I wanted to help Thor, yes, but more than that, I wanted answers.”

“Did you get them?”

“No,” came the flat reply. “I haven’t, which is an answer in itself. There’s the official word from the palace - Loki survived the fall from the Bifrost, but then disappeared. The story goes he went of his own accord - off on another of his explorations, or went as an ambassador to one of the lesser realms. It’s hard to say what the people in general think. I’m sure that some realize that makes no sense; we have and _have_ had all the contact we need with the other realms. There was no reason to send him anywhere, and especially no reason to do so in secret. What would be the point?

“The story that we’re being fed is starting its own swath of rumors, like such things always do. Some are swearing that he was sent on some sort of task for the palace. An ugly sort of task - the kind that only he can stomach.” His face blanched. “Wouldn’t be the first time, after all. He does have a bit of a reputation for those sorts of things. I don’t know, though. He’s different. Not the same as he was before.”

“Softer?”

A laugh. “ _Gods_ no. If anything, he’s more dangerous now than he’s ever been. Just in a different way.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

“Not bad,” Fandral repeated. “Just different, like everything else around here.” He shook his head. “Something is wrong in this place. It’s always been a palace - secrets, lies, puzzles, duplicity, but it has _never_ been like this. Something’s happened, or is happening right under our noses. No one is talking about it, and even Fandral the Dashing, Fandral the Simple, Fandral the Can’t See Past the Pretty Face in Front of Him to Save His Life can tell.”

“You’re not that simple,” countered Parker.

Fandral merely shrugged as he went on. “So you say, and you might be right, but I have a place here, and I know it. That place is by Thor’s side, as companion, protector and resident bad influence. It’s been my place for a thousand years and with luck, will be for a thousand years to come. Thor knows me, and he trusts me. _Odin_ trusts me, much as it pains him to admit it publicly. I was born a warrior. Able to raise a glass or a sword or a temper in equal measure. I’ve fought by the All-Father’s side a hundred times over, dragged his sons from fields knee-deep in entrails without batting an eye, and now this. Lies. Scattered memories. He’s reduced me to running messages and acting as escort to a prince who may or may not have committed treason in the five minutes my back was turned last week and to a boy who has absolutely _no_ business being a part of whatever Odin’s planning.” A light scoff. “No offense.”

A easy lift to one shoulder that belied none of the dread rising in Parker’s chest. “None taken.”

“War is coming,” Fandral said. “Thor believes it. Loki believes it. Odin _knows_ it, and he’s lying if he says otherwise, but this… it’s not like anything I’ve seen. There’s too much below the surface. Too many questions and too few answers. Too many lies. I don’t mind dying. My place in Valhalla has long been assured, but if I’m going, I’d like to at _least_ have a _very_ good reason why.” He grinned, a bit of his old self coming through. “Haven’t got one yet, which is why I’m still around.”

“Maybe nobody knows the whole story,” Parker ventured. “I mean, I know some, but not as much as Aeslin does, who knows _almost_ all of what Loki knows, which is different than what Thor knows… it’s like a hideous Venn diagram.” He gestured vaguely at Fandral’s confused look. “Overlapping knowledge. Nobody has it all.”

“Odin has it all,” Fandral repeated firmly, “and so does Frigga. Sif also knows more than she’s telling, which has put a de _light_ ful strain on things, as you can imagine. I have no idea if she’s spoken to the others. I just know she hasn’t enlightened me.”

_\- The movie over, Loki stands, stretching arms lazily over his head. His t-shirt lifts a little as he does so, revealing a cord of scar tissue that arcs above one hip before vanishing into his jeans. Thor looks at it, his face curious._

_“Where’d you get that one?” he asks, and Loki all but yanks his shirt back down, a faint flicker of… something on his face. Shame?_

_“Found it.” He recovers smoothly, the expression already gone as though it had never been. “Liked it, thought I’d keep it. Anyone else need a refill?” He is out of the room without waiting for an answer, and he doesn’t return for a long time. -_

Parker shook his head, both at the sudden memory and at Fandral. “Nobody can know everything. Not even the All-Father. It’s not possible.”

Fandral studied him thoughtfully for a moment. “Perhaps,” he finally allowed. “But I wouldn’t go around announcing that.”

They fell into a companionable silence, which was broken only a moment later by the door opening; one of the Einherjar beckoned to Parker.

“You. Come with me.”

A glance at Fandral, who saluted him with a slight grin. Parker picked up his cane, saluted back, and followed the guard into Odin’s chambers.

***

_The door closes behind Fandral and the others, leaving Aeslin and Loki in a room that now feels far emptier than it should. They do not even need to speak to know what the other is thinking; she is moving almost before the sound of footsteps fade, straightening her jacket as she heads for the door. He is right on her heels._

_Frigga’s page is waiting for them at the end of the hallway, calm and serene as a summer’s morning. She inclines her head kindly toward Aeslin, drops a slight curtsey to the prince, and beckons them both to follow her. They walk down the corridor together, and this time Loki notices that the stares that follow them seem to be a little more obvious. A little more curious. He realizes belatedly that her arm is not in his; instead they stride after the page, faces intense, and it is clear that something is amiss. This is not a stroll through the palace to visit Parker or his brother. This is business, and for a second, Loki flashes back to another time, another place, but the same feeling - following Rogers through the helicarrier on the way to battle the Chitauri. Not for the first time, he feels a small swell of anger at himself for having dragged Aeslin into yet another fight._

_They arrive at the entrance to Frigga’s solarium; after a discreet knock, the page pushes the doors open and gestures for them to enter. They follow the young woman further in, coming at last to the warm, sunny chamber in which Loki spent hours of his youth. Frigga stands in front of one of the glass walls, straight and stern as marble. She gives a small nod to the page, who answers with a bow and retreats silently the way they came. Frigga then turns her full attention on the two in front of her, and Loki’s fears are confirmed. This will be no light-hearted chat over tea._

_There is an interminable quiet while Frigga regards the two of them coolly. Loki knows better than to speak, as does Aeslin; instead, they both instinctively stand with hands clasped behind their backs, awaiting the inevitable. Whatever that might be._

_“Well,” she finally says. “You’re looking much better.”_

_He knows that he should remain silent, that it is not yet his place to speak, but he cannot help himself._

_“Don’t let him kill Thor. Please.”_

_Frigga’s eyes narrow slightly at that. “Only Thor?” she says. “My dear child, the All-Father has more than enough justification to execute all_ three _of you for treason, and that includes the woman at your side. The boy would be spared, certainly, as it is quite clear that while he may have supported the idea, he had no direct involvement. The rest of you, however, have no such excuse.”_

_“I know,” replies Loki. “Aeslin can speak for herself, as is her right, but even then, you know what I would beg of you on her behalf. What I would do. The same goes for my brother. Will you not speak for him? It is clear that Odin will not hear me. I am not even allowed in his presence.”_

_A laugh. “And what a fine idea_ that _would be. Why do you think you’re here with me and not with your brother? How do you think you’re_ here _at all? I_ have _spoken for you -_ all _of you, and at some length. Odin chose to listen to me, and he has agreed that, for the time being at least, your actions shall be overlooked and no punishment meted out. There are more pressing matters to attend to, in any case, and if I am right, Asgard will have need of your particular skills before long. Both of you.”_

_“Then I hope he’s not expecting an apology,” Aeslin says simply, “because I’d do it again in a heartbeat, and so would Thor.”_

_“Of that I have no doubt, little one,” comes Frigga’s reply, “and I would not stop you. Be certain of that. Foolish and impulsive as Thor’s actions might have been, and more and more I doubt they were as impetuous as he would have the All-Father believe, they were the correct ones. Thor believes his choice to have been a selfish one, but he is wrong. He is not the only one affected, and I am grateful to have my son restored. To have him, whether here or elsewhere, for a good while longer.”_

_Loki lowers his head in half a nod, both to show agreement and to hide the expression that he tries without success to keep from his face._

She does not know _._

_The thought is strangely comforting, but it bothers him, as well. There are few things Odin has kept from her over the long millennia, and fewer still that she has not discovered on her own. He looks back up at her and finds her studying his face. He schools his features carefully, but he has never been able to completely fool his mother. He allows a bit of the anger at what Odin has done to come to the surface instead, and Frigga nods infinitesimally. They both know what is coming; Odin cannot hide from his stolen son forever. There too much left unspoken between them, more than even the All-Mother can see, and it cannot be ignored any longer. Not if the house of Odin hopes to present as unified a front as will be required in the days ahead._

_Sacrifice for the greater good. Loki has had his fill of it, as have they all, but there is nothing else for it. Not now. Not yet._

_“Sit,” Frigga says at last, gesturing toward a cluster of chairs. “We have much to discuss.”_

_***_

The guard led Parker through a short hallway that opened into a large, well-lit space. Odin sat in a massive chair that stood on a dais at the other end of the long room. Thor stood on one of the lower steps, and Parker let himself feel a faint rush of relief at the sight of him. He’d been more than half afraid that the blond had been summarily executed. There was no welcoming smile from Thor, however. He merely watched as Parker crossed the room, the sound of his cane loud in the stillness.

Parker came to a halt at what seemed to be a reasonable distance from the All-Father, resting both hands on the head of his cane. Odin seemed to be waiting for something, and after a moment, Parker realized what it might have been and dipped into a sort of bow, coming back up almost immediately. Odin studied him in the light through the large window behind his chair, and Parker tried not to squint as he looked back at him, knowing full well that the room was designed as it was for a reason.

“The healers,” Odin finally said, voice curious as he gestured to the intricately carved cane in Parker’s hands. “Were they not able to cure you completely?”

He could feel his brow knit; the question was not the one he was expecting. “I still have balance problems on occasion,” he answered after a second’s pause. “Eir told me it might happen; they were kind of making things up as they went along. I’m the first human she’s worked on in a very long time, and she wasn’t exactly sure how to build one from scratch, which is where she basically had to start with me. Knowing that, I don’t so much mind the occasional dizzy spell. They’ve done amazing work, stuff that would be completely impossible where I come from, and she never once quit on me.” He felt his voice rising in defense of the healer who’d done so much for him, and he stopped to take a breath. “So to answer your question, yes. As far as I’m concerned, they were able to cure me _completely_ , and then some.”

Odin regarded him with that same faintly bemused expression. “Who are you, boy?”

“My name is Parker.” His eyes flicked to Thor, who rolling his index fingers in the universal _keep going_ gesture as unobtrusively as possible, and Parker gave a quiet sigh into the expectant silence.

“Joshua Hadrian Parker. Son of Gregory and Kate. Native of Craftsbury, Vermont. A bit north of Stowe; you won’t have heard of it. PhD in exobiology from George Mason University, _summa cum laude_. Virgo. Twenty-nine. Formerly of SHIELD. Currently with Stark Industries, though I’ve been farmed out for freelance work recently. Good friend of your son’s.”

Odin glanced over to Thor, then back to Parker, who hadn’t taken his own gaze off the All-Father.

“Yeah,” the young man said with half a smile. “That one, too, I guess.”

Thor covered what might have been a cough, and Odin narrowed his eye at the man standing in the square of light in front of the dais. “I’m curious,” he said. “You stand before Odin All-Father with nary a care in the world, as though I do not hold the power of life and death in my hands for every being in this realm. Tell me, boy. Is it fear, wisdom or respect you Midgardians lack?”

“Depends on the being,” he returned easily, “though your data set is likely either too small or outdated. We’re not what we were when you left. We’ve changed. Adapted. Might even say we’ve evolved. For me?” A gentle shrug; he lifted the foot of the cane from the ground and put it lightly down again. “I lack a bit of all three, I guess, but don’t take it personally. I’ve seen things that few other Midgardians have. Experienced things that I hope others never have to, but I’ve also experienced things that others probably never will, and I feel kind of sorry for them. The past two years or so… I guess you could say my perception has changed a little bit. I used to be scared. Not so much anymore.” A slight grin. “I blame the seagulls, personally.”

A light scoff. “Spoken like one who has never seen war.”

Another shrug as Parker looked over at Thor. “Spoken as one who’s never really had to, thanks to those who are willing to stand in the way. Those like your sons, and others, and that’s a _pretty_ hefty assumption, by the way.” He thought back to the helicarrier, and to the aftermath of the fight in New York. The cleanup that was still going on, nearly two years after the last Chitauri had crumpled to the asphalt. “But I’ve seen enough, I think. Enough to know I don’t want to see more.”

“That might not be your choice to make, boy,” came the almost-kind reply. “War is on our doorstep, and whether or not you like it, you and your world are a part of it. Small though that part might be, it is… quite significant. I believe it only fitting that your realm should be represented on my council of war.”

The words took a moment to sink in, and when they did, Parker managed a small laugh. “Me. You’re joking.”

“No,” the All-Father replied. “I am not.”

“You _can’t_ mean me,” Parker said. “I’m nobody. I’m a biologist, not a diplomat. I have no experience. No training.”

“And who,” Odin said, voice still maddeningly calm, “shall I choose from your realm instead? Any suggestions? My options, as you yourself have said, are quite limited.”

A vast silence fell over the room as Parker considered the only other Midgardian readily available; he wasn’t even sure she fit the definition anymore. Aeslin Kindle. Doctor. Professor. His best friend. His brilliant, beloved, slightly unstable, loyal-to-a-fault telekinetic giant-slaying badass best friend. His _Loki-_ trained giant-slaying badass, currently held in asylum for killing what had turned out to be the seated king of another realm in a moment of sheer, incandescent rage. His lip gave a tiny twitch - one that he saw matched on Thor’s face.

“That’s… fair,” he finally admitted.

“Ah,” replied Odin with a faint smile. “ _There_ is the wisdom I sought, and that which my son was so _certain_ was present.” He studied Parker for another moment. “Bravery, too, or at least a brave sort of stupidity. Either one can be useful in its own way. There is a spirit to you, boy. One that I did not expect.”

Parker resisted the urge to roll his eyes in front of the purported Father of Nine Realms and Counting. “Thanks,” he managed. “I do what I can.”

“Let us hope so, Joshua Gregorson,” Odin said. “My son will return you to your chambers. I’m sure you will have many questions for him, and he will answer them as best he can. I will send for you when you are needed.”

The dismissal was clear, but as Thor stepped forward, the young man spoke once more. “I just want to make one thing perfectly clear,” he said.

“Which is?” Odin seemed a bit distracted, as though he were already moving on to the next task and had almost forgotten that the boy was still there.

“Parker,” he told him firmly. “My name is _Parker_.”

***

Loki sat back as Frigga finished speaking; she had been telling them of the visits to both Vanaheim and Alfheim. He steepled his fingers under his chin as he thought.

“Still no formal declaration of war,” he said. “What’s Helblindi waiting for? He doesn’t seem the type to bide his time.”

“Impossible to say,” replied his mother after a sip of tea, “but he may have no choice _except_ to wait. Perhaps there are other voices advising him not to; they are in a rather precarious state, after all.”

“Do you honestly think he’ll be open to negotiating after what happened? After what we - after what _I_ did? I’m sure that’s going to make it almost impossible to go back to the drawing board.” Aeslin sat with legs tucked under her, as she always did when she was thinking. “From what you’ve said, it seems like everyone is assuming that war is imminent, but the one person who can make that decision hasn’t pulled the trigger yet.” She winced at her choice of words. “In a manner of speaking. What about Heimdall? Can’t he see anything?”

Frigga was already shaking her head. “It wasn’t your actions alone,” she answered. “This has been coming for a long time, I think, perhaps even before Thor’s coronation. Byleistr’s death might have been the spark that will start this conflagration, but the kindling was laid long before you even entered these realms, little one.” A slight smile touched her lips. “No pun intended.” The quirk to her lips faded as she watched Aeslin pick up a delicate pastry, then put it down again untouched. Frigga seemed to be studying her almost-daughter, a thin line appearing between her brows that had vanished by the time Aeslin looked up. The reassuring smile reappeared. “No one faults you for your actions, Kindlesdaughter.”

Aeslin rolled her eyes a little at that. “I can name about four people who do without even thinking,” she said. “Give me a minute, and I’m sure there will be more.”

“Then _I_ don’t fault you,” came the reply. “And to answer your other question, Heimdall is doing all he can, but there are things he cannot see. It troubles him, and us. There are strange things at work here; I fear there is much we are missing. Too much that we are not seeing and cannot know. We must be prepared for anything, which brings me to the two of you.” She set aside her cup and folded her hands on the table. “As I remember, Kindlesdaughter, we had an agreement of sorts. My son lives. Do you still wish to go forward with what you asked me all those weeks ago?”

Loki turned to Aeslin, curious. She’d said nothing of any bargain between herself and the All-Mother, but as he watched, she lifted her chin. “I do, and more than that, I think you want me to.”

Frigga’s laugh was gentle. “Want is perhaps too kind a word. War is an ugly thing and can turn on the tiniest of hinges. The smallest of moments. I love you as I would my own daughter, but before I was a mother, I was a queen. A Valkyrie. I would be foolish to let a powerful weapon go unused, if the times required it. Any of my warriors will tell you as much.” She shrugged, a mere lifting of one shoulder, memory coloring her tone. “A harsh queen? Of course. A cruel one? If necessary. But at least an honest one.” She leaned forward, covering Aeslin’s slim hand with her own. “A necessary step, but one I agree that you need to take, regardless of any possible outcome. For your own sanity. Your own peace.”

“Agreed,” replied Aeslin simply.

“Excellent.” Frigga tightened her fingers around Aeslin’s, her smile reassuring. “I will have much to ask of you and to learn before we begin. I know this must be difficult, but know that I will be here with you, as will your husband.”

“Not her husband,” came Loki’s automatic reply; Frigga’s grin widened, though she didn’t look at her son.

“Not to worry,” replied his mother in nearly the same tone. “We’ll see to that, as well.”

Aeslin’s brow went up. She glanced at Loki, who shrugged knowingly, and then back to Frigga. “We’re preparing for war. Is this honestly the time?”

“Few times are better. We’re in sore need of celebration at the moment; feasts are one thing, but we haven’t had a proper wedding around here in _ages_. It will do wonders for solidifying your place in the royal household.”

Loki snorted indelicately as he reached for his goblet. “And how you managed _that_ sentence with a straight face, I’ll never know,” he said. “Do you honestly think it will change anything? He’ll see it as nothing more than binding a castoff to a goat. It will do nothing, and you know it.”

“It will do enough,” Frigga answered sternly. “Every tiny thing will help. We’ve more rumors in this palace than even _I_ know what to do with, and it’s time we put some of them to rest. Even then, when it comes down to it, this has nothing to do with Odin and everything to do with the two of you. If all this ends well, I’m certainly not expecting you to settle down on some palatial estate and do nothing but shower me with grandchildren and horrible poetry.” She sat back a little, looking between the two of them. “I merely want you to be happy. Happily _wedded_. It’s one of my duties, as you might remember, and I’m _rather_ tickled at the idea of actually performing that duty, whether or not the world ends immediately afterward.” A small wrinkle touched her brow. “Or has something changed? Do you no longer wish to be wed?”

“We do,” came Aeslin’s firm response; knowing that her answer was meant for Frigga and him both, Loki gently squeezed her knee beneath the table in understanding. She nudged him back with a patient look, and he grinned at her. “It’s just that we basically rented an entire island to avoid a large wedding, and if we could do that again, I’d be very grateful. A feast is… acceptable. A large wedding is not. Also you get to explain to Tony exactly why he couldn’t be there, because he’s going to be _livid_ after all the work he’s put in. And Thor. He was so excited to be able to do it for us, and now…”

“Again. Leave that to me; I promise that Thor will not be left in the cold.”

“So there’s a way that he can help? That it will still work?”

Frigga stretched her arms out. “Goddess of marriage, my dear,” she laughed. “It works however I say it does. A small, quiet moment in the gardens, and then a feast for the ages. Exactly what we need.” She rose gracefully from her chair, heading toward a doorway that led directly into one of the gardens. Gesturing to both of them, she smiled. “Walk with me.”

***

_The three of them stroll through the eastern garden; Frigga links her arm with Aeslin’s as they maneuver along the narrow, crushed stone paths. Loki walks behind them both, content to follow and listen for now._

_“Tell me of this,” Frigga says, touching Aeslin’s brow gently with her free hand. “Tell me what it is.”_

_Aeslin is silent for several steps, gathering her thoughts, and Loki’s ears perk up. They have spoken of her magic before, but she has not volunteered much more than she told him during their initial training sessions at the Warehouse. She has been reluctant to talk of it to everyone, reluctant to admit she bears it and more than a little troubled by what it means. She would have told him all she could, had he truly asked; instead, he has allowed her to keep her secrets, as she allowed him to keep his. It is only fair. When she speaks at last, her voice is thoughtful and slow, as though she is still unsure._

_“It was like a house,” she says. “My mind, I mean. A house that I’d spent every day of my life in. I knew every door, every window, every closet, every room; they were as familiar to me as my own name. And then one day, I woke up, and there was a new door. One I’d never seen before.” A bit of a laugh. “That’s a bit of an oversimplification. What actually happened? I got in an argument with your son. One that he started, might I add, and the only reason he was able to finish it was because he caught me off guard and dumped me out into a hallway. When he apologized a week later, I repaid him by having a seizure and spending five days in a coma. When I woke up, things were different._ I _was different. There was a door, and there was something behind it. A power I didn’t understand. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before. It was wonderful. It was beautiful. It was horrifying. It was me, but it wasn’t. It was more.”_

_Frigga nods, her arm still through Aeslin’s as though to buoy her up. “Go on.”_

_“I tried to explain it to Loki later,” she continues, “after he learned what I was. After he learned I was different and didn’t actually care.” Loki chuckles in spite of himself, and Frigga looks over her shoulder at her son, one brow raised._

_“I_ did _care,” he clarifies. “I cared because it bothered her; I just didn’t care that she was different. Quite the opposite, actually. A bit of a disaster? Suddenly finding you don’t belong? It made her_ infinitely _more relatable.”_

_Matching looks from the two women; he winks and lets Aeslin pick up the thread again. He is more familiar with this part, but he listens carefully regardless, curious for further details._

_“I don’t want to say that it’s self-aware, but when I think of it, I think of a creature. Something beyond just me. It waits behind the door. When I call the power, or whatever it is, it’s like I open that door and let it out. It comes at my call; I use it to do what needs to be done, and then I send it away. Only sometimes it doesn’t go easily. It fights and it kicks and it leaves scraps of itself with me, things that I can’t get rid of. I can handle that, though. It’s not bad. What’s worse is when it takes things with it. Things I can’t get back.”_

_“Such as?” Frigga’s voice is patient but probing._

_“The things that make me human. Every time I call it, every time it comes and goes, I’m not the same as I was. I feel like I’m losing myself piece by piece, bit by bit. I want to use it. I crave it. I need it. It calls to me like nothing else, and it terrifies me because I know what I can do with it.” She shakes her head. “What I_ have _done with it. I want to say that I didn’t know what I was doing when I killed the Jotun. Byleistr. I want to say that it got out of control, and that would be a lie. If it had, not one of us would be standing. Friend, enemy, it wouldn’t have mattered. We all would have died on that beach, and we didn’t. We didn’t because I knew exactly what I was doing, and it did exactly what I meant it to do. What does that mean? What does that make me?”_

 _He aches to hold her, aches to soothe away the question in her voice, the one she has asked him time and again. His answer is always the same, and perhaps it is not enough. Perhaps another’s answer will add the objectivity to her confusion that he cannot, bound as he is to her._ You have to _, she says at her worst moments._ You have to because you love me. _It makes no sense, and they both know it, but the words remain. The fears remain._

 _“What does it mean?” the All-Mother asks, pulling her a little closer as though to tell her a particularly intriguing secret. “It means that you’ve confused humanity with being human. They’re far from the same thing.” She stops beneath an arched trellis and faces Aeslin fully. “You believe that in order to keep yourself, to keep what you are, you have to remain what you were. Nothing is further from the truth. You believe that which makes you will change. You’re wrong. Your mind, your heart, your soul - they are all still yours. They’re just in a different place with different tools. You are no murderer, Kindlesdaughter, no matter what you believe. It was a battle. As you always have, you tried to protect the ones you loved in the only way you know how. It was no different than New York, when you slew Chitauri by the score and kept a monster in the sky just long enough to count. You defend. You protect. You do not shed blood until you have literally no other option, and that has_ not _changed. Anyone can see that. This gift? There are many who would misuse it. Abuse it. You, my child, will not. You only think you will, but you cannot, no more than the sun can rise in the west. It is not in your nature. A nature that has not changed.”_

_She guides Aeslin to the bench nestled within the trellis, motioning for her son to join them. The queen sits proudly, regally, and Aeslin faces her. Loki pulls the other small bench closer and sits as close to his beloved as he can, ready to reach out at a moment’s notice. To catch her or support her if she needs it, as he always will. Frigga asks more questions, gently but thoroughly teasing as much information as she can from Aeslin. When it began to hurt her. Where it hurts, and in what way, and for how long._

_Aeslin tells of the battle in New York; Loki is brought back to those chaotic streets by her tale. To the smell of dust and metal and blood and lightning. She speaks of the Chitauri, of plucking them from the sky like fireflies. She tells of the Other, mentioning him only briefly, as her fight was not with him. A single, tiny shard of metal was all that required, barely a whisper of effort, but to her, some of the most vital and precise work she has ever done. She then talks of the Leviathan. How she pulled too much too fast. Dragged every last flicker of power she could find from the nooks and crannies of its lair, and how she let it run free and wild long enough to hold the monster. The magic exacted a heavy price for that, and she has not been able to use it without payment since that moment._

_Frigga nods in understanding, eyes golden with Sight. She ghosts her fingers along Aeslin’s face and head as she tells her tale; the queen’s hands slow on occasion as though she is studying what only she can see. At last, the All-Mother glances upward to the delicate vines twining through the trellis above them, from which clusters of deep blue flowers droop. “Bring me one of those,” she says._

_Aeslin has not called her magic since Loki’s was restored. It is a revelation. He realizes now how dulled his senses were as her_ seidr _washes over the three of them, whistling through the door with the clean, freezing scent and feeling of autumn rain. It is brilliant, clear as glass, and among the most beautiful things he has ever felt. She concentrates; he can feel her reluctance, but she presses on. A bead of blood gathers in the hollow of her ear, trembling a little before it slips free. Far above them, an answering tremor within the vines. Aeslin winces, eyes still closed, and then, with a faint wisp of broken greenery, a perfectly cut spray of blue drops into Frigga’s lap. The queen ignores it for the moment, her hands careful. Loki senses a tendril of Frigga’s magic, and after a moment, the pain etched on Aeslin’s face vanishes as though it has never been._

_Aeslin looks at the queen, the silver fading from her eyes. “Is that it?” she asks Frigga as Loki uses the side of his thumb to wipe droplets of blood from her neck._

_Frigga shakes her head. “An experiment only, but an encouraging one.” She smiles as she cups the back of Aeslin’s neck in a familiar, caring movement. “Oh, sweet child.” She laughs, a pure, simple sound that harks back to every one of Loki’s best memories. “This is going to be the most fun I’ve had in centuries.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long chapter is looooooong, but i hope you like it! feedcrack appreciated. :) thank you so much for being so patient with me.
> 
> (also for those who need a refresher on Loki's blood magic/curse, that's in chapter 21. I realize it was like, four months ago and maybe it might not right at the forefront of your reading!brain.) :)


	26. Chapter 26

_Loki works his fingers through Aeslin’s hair, plaiting, twisting and pinning as he goes. He takes his time this morning; this is no rush job, done on a Quinjet in the moments before an invasion. This is no late-night distraction in the face of the nightmares that routinely woke them both, and occasionally still do. This is a moment that will be remembered, if he is any judge. Asgard will see her for the powerful, brilliant warrior that she is, and he cannot be blamed for wanting her to take a bit of him with her into this particular battle. He reaches to the table near his elbow, retrieving one of the tiny, intricately carved pins. Some have been topped with gems, and her hair glitters with muted stars of diamond and deep green seraphinite. Once in the sun, they will be more visible, but not by much._ Subtle _, she’d told him_ , until I’m absolutely not. Like a few other people I know.

 _“Are you sure the green is all right?” he asks as he tries to anchor a recalcitrant strand for the third time. He resists the urge to send a filament of_ seidr _into the offending curl and instead adds another pin, this one transparent. He is under strict orders from Frigga not to add anything to Aeslin’s current state, no matter how insignificant. It would not to do muddy the waters when there is the very real possibility that things will explode. Literally._

_“Why wouldn’t it be?” she answers. “Plus I’d hate for you to have to start over. You’ve been at this for a while.”_

_He strokes a thumb along the nape of her neck. “Almost done; I promise. And because, well… it’s part of my colors. You’ll be making a pretty strong statement about your loyalties, both to the palace at large and to one person in particular, should he choose to pay attention.” A final inspection, and he rests his hands on her shoulders, kneading them gently before stepping back. “There. Finished.”_

_She stands, walking to the mirror and pirouetting slightly to get the full effect. “And if anyone is surprised at those loyalties after all this time,” she continues as she surveys the web of gems in her hair, “then maybe the reminder will be good for them.” A grin. “Besides, I was wearing green_ long _before you got involved. Seems a shame to change a habit just for some guy I picked up in jail.”_

_He rolls his eyes at that, unable to hide his own smile as he hands her Forseti’s latest offering. She slips the jacket on over her chemise. The fabric is deep green, with the faintest shimmer of sunlight on dark water. It is likely wyrmskin, or something very close, and Loki glides his fingers appreciatively along the warm, flexible fabric. The sleeves of the coat flow smoothly down her arms, covering her hands to the knuckles, and he is glad that Forseti has seen to that detail for her. It is a small thing, but significant, and every little bit helps. The entire design is elegant, yet at the same time simple and functional. Loki studies her critically._

_“How’s the fit? Tight spots? Anything that will interrupt your range of motion? No binding or catching? What about the pants?”_

_She laughs a little as she stretches and bends sinuously, always careful to keep out of reach. “You sound as though this is going to devolve into fisticuffs with the Queen of Asgard.”_

_“And_ you _sound as though it’s not,” he counters, resting one hip on the stool she’s so recently vacated. “I wouldn’t underestimate her, if I were you. Most of her Valkyries are personally trained to one degree or another. No reason to think you’ll be any different.”_

_“You think she wants to make me a Valkyrie?” Aeslin stops mid-twirl, eyebrow quirked._

_“_ Wants _and_ is going to _are two different things, little one. I’m sure she’s got all sorts of plans for you, but I doubt that’s one of them. Not realistically. I agree with her; you haven’t the disposition for it.”_

_“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she says with a grin. “Hard-drinking, hard-fighting, hard-loving…”_

_“And two out of three ain’t bad,” he finishes in an exaggerated drawl, a matching smile on his lips. There is a soft knock at the door, and he strolls over to open it as he throws a wink over his shoulder at Aeslin. She sticks out her tongue at him in response, and he shakes his head. “Promises, promises.”_

_The young man on the other side is clearly a little startled to see a prince of Asgard answering his own door instead of just calling for the visitor to enter. He stares at Loki in silence for a second before recovering. “I’ve come for the Lady Aeslin; the Queen is ready for her.”_

_Aeslin approaches them, movements graceful. “Then let’s not keep her waiting.” Her lip twitches as she glances at Loki. “Kiss for luck?”_

_An answering smirk as he takes her hand, brushing his lips deliberately across her knuckles. “Luck will have nothing to do with it. Off you go.”_

_She drops what might be a curtsy, gives him a saucy wave, and follows the aide out the door._

_He does not accompany her; he is sure he would be welcome, but they decided the previous night that this day is for her and the Queen alone. It won’t do to have Loki hovering if they expect anyone to take Aeslin seriously; she needs to stand on her own, and the day’s planned activities will likely go far in solidifying her position._

_That doesn’t mean that he won’t be an observer, however. There are other things that require his attention, to be sure; this might not be the most vital of his tasks, but it will certainly be the most entertaining. He waits for long moments until he is sure that the hallways outside are empty, and then he pushes open his door silently and slips outside._

_The illusion he has chosen is similar to those he’s used in the past. Well-dressed but not too ostentatious, enough that he will not be mistaken for a servant. A lesser noble, one free to roam the palace without notice. One of hundreds. The face is wide and friendly, with a smattering of freckles and light brown hair._

_He breezes through one of the feast halls to test the glamour, noting with pride that none give him a second glance. Snagging a piece of fruit from one of the heavily laden tables, he takes the steps two at a time toward an upper level of the palace. An arcade stretches along the southern wall, scattered with windows, alcoves and balconies that look over the large training areas that Frigga has set aside. They are currently empty, except for two small figures seated roughly halfway up in the tiers of benches. On closer inspection, Loki recognizes both Parker and Fandral, and he is glad that they will be there in support. He stretches out on the wide stone sill of a recessed window and settles back to wait._

_***_

Aeslin met Frigga in one of the queen’s sitting rooms. As she entered, Frigga stood, arms outstretched in greeting, and Aeslin stopped with a bit of surprise. Instead of the elegant gowns she usually wore, the queen was clad in close-fitting armor. Silver glittered against inky blue and black with every movement, and the filigree on her high boots caught the sunlight as she crossed the room.

“You seem surprised.” A gentle smirk, so like her son’s, touched her lips.

“Maybe a little,” Aeslin admitted. “Probably more than I should be; he did try to warn me.”

Frigga laughed. “And more than anyone else, he would know. Are you ready?” She wove her arm through Aeslin’s without waiting for an answer and headed for the corridor. Those already in the hallway stopped and stared as they passed, dipping deep bows or curtsies to the queen and occasionally to Aeslin, as well. A swell of whispers followed them, hushed and curious. Frigga seemed oblivious to what was happening behind them, smiling and nodding, but not engaging. After a moment, Eir joined them. The healer’s clothing was simple and practical as always, and she carried a small pouch at her belt. She nodded to both Aeslin and the queen, falling easily into step next to Frigga.

The three emerged into the sunlight, and Frigga led the way toward the largest of the training rings. Aeslin glanced up at the tiers of seats, noticing two familiar figures. Parker noticed her gaze and waved slightly, the excited grin on his face obvious even at this distance, and Fandral lifted a hand in greeting as well. Shaking her head a little, Aeslin smiled back, then turned her attention back to Frigga. The queen entered a small tent that had been set up at the edge of the large field, and Eir gestured for Aeslin to precede her inside. The healer then allowed the thick, gauzy doors of the pavilion to fall shut behind them.

Frigga perched on the edge of a table, hands folded in her lap, and Aeslin tried not to smile at the change in demeanor. The queen seemed cheerful, almost casual, and Aeslin wondered how many times through the years she’d allowed herself to relax in such a way.

“Eir and I have been reviewing your images from the Forge,” the queen began without preamble. “They’ve been quite enlightening. Although we have nothing in the way of comparison, the implications of what we’ve been able to determine are clear, and not surprising in the least.” A faint smile. “You’re fighting.”

An answering smirk. “I’m shocked.”

Eir spoke up. “The amount of magic that you carry simply cannot exist in the space which it’s been given. Initially, when you were not pulling it to its fullest potential, it didn’t much matter. Once you called on it to stop the Leviathan, though, it became too much. The magic is trying to alter you enough to allow you to bear it completely. To bond with it, as it were. To exist in the same place. And you are fighting it, whether you mean to or not. Your body is rebelling, because your mind is ordering it to do so.”

“The subconscious is a powerful thing,” Frigga continued, “and yours is bolstered by the belief that you cannot change and remain what you are, as we spoke of in the gardens. We can change you, Eir and I. We can break the barriers that you’ve put up to keep this all at bay, but you have to trust us. You have to trust yourself. Change. Adaptation. They are necessary for survival. You’re a scientist; you know this. You are no different than the life that you study.” At Aeslin’s look, Frigga laughed gently. “And if you’re troubled by comparing yourself to a disease, then may I suggest you look instead to my son. This is something he has known his entire life. Something he has _done_ for long ages, before he even realized what he was doing, or why. His journey has been brutal. Heartwrenching. Vicious. He does not need to tell me of it; I can see it in his carriage. In his face. He has walked through a firestorm, little one, burning and warping like glass as he went. He adapted, and by doing so, he _survived_. I see no reason why you cannot do the same.”

“We can make the changes, as Frigga said,” came Eir’s calm voice. “But you must allow us to do so.”

Aeslin nodded, lifting her chin. “All right, then. Let’s do this.”

Encouraging smiles from both women, and then Eir lifted the curtain while Frigga led the way out onto the training ground. Smooth sand gave a little beneath her feet, and Aeslin shoved away a small twinge at the memory of the wedding. Instead, she lifted her eyes from the ground and looked back up into the amphitheater to catch Parker’s eye again. The benches were no longer as empty as they had been, though; a few nobles and other curious onlookers now sat scattered across the curved space. Aeslin glanced over at Frigga with a sigh.

“Putting some rumors to rest, are you?”

“I find that a multi-pronged attack is often the most effective,” came the simple reply as the queen began to call magic to her fingers. “Besides, it’s rather unavoidable, I think. May as well just allow you to settle things yourself.”

A faint lattice of magic began to circle the large, sandy arena, creating a barrier between those inside and those observing. Once the area was covered by what seemed to be a protective dome, the magic faded, allowing an uninterrupted view.

_From far above, Loki watches the proceedings as he munches on his snack. He takes little notice of the women who pass him; they give him the same courtesy. They wander onto the balcony nearest his perch, curious at what is unfolding on the grounds below, but it is only when one begins speaking that he pays them any heed._

_“-found her somewhere,” the first is saying with a sort of generous pity in her voice. “The other one, too. Brought them both back from wherever he’s been. Midgard, was it?”_

_“Mmhmm,” one of the others agrees. “I’ve heard that he was there for a while, ran into some trouble. They managed to help him. Proved themselves useful somehow, so I suppose he brought them back to show his gratitude. Introduce them to the lay of the land, as it were.”_

_“Oh, not just the_ land _.” Loki can practically hear the smirk crossing the third’s face. He shifts for a slightly better listening angle, still not taking his eyes from Aeslin below. “She’s got no rooms of her own. She’s staying in his.”_

_Thoughtful noises from a few of the woman’s companions. “You’re sure?”_

_“As sure as one can be with him,” comes the reply. “The boy has his own, not that he spends much time in them. Too busy ingratiating himself with Thor and the Lady Fandral._ She _does not, nor is she even_ pretending _to.”_

_“Did you know,” muses another, “that the tailor refused to fit me for the upcoming feast? Passed me off to one of his assistants as though it was nothing out of the ordinary. Said that he had a special commission from the palace.” A delicate snort. “It would appear he’s been given the apparently impossible task of making a pair of goats presentable.”_

_A half-hearted, mildly theatrical shushing, followed by more contemplative silence. At last, one speaks. “She is rather… plain, isn’t she.” It is not a question, though ostensibly it is couched as one. Loki grits his teeth._

_Fabric rustles as someone shrugs. “Any port in a storm, I suppose,” observes the third voice. “No matter. The prince will tire of her soon enough. He’ll come to his senses.”_

Aeslin faced both Frigga and Eir. “So you’ve protected everyone else,” she observed. “Can I assume you’re also shielded?”

“Would it matter?” Frigga studied her curiously. “You’re in control of it. The magic I’ve added is only meant to channel anything away from the watchers. We’re in no danger, and even if we were, I think you’re underestimating my skills _just_ a hair.”

“Fair enough. What now?”

“Now you let go. You let it out. Totally and completely, without fear of what will happen to you or those around you. Eir and I will be with you, breaking down barriers and making any necessary adjustments that we can. _Let_ us. We can’t control you and your magic at the same time. You need to trust us.” She put a hand on Aeslin’s cheek, eyes flaring gold. “Trust us, little one. Let go.”

Settling her shoulders and letting out a long, quiet breath, Aeslin reached for the magic. It sprang to her fingers, and she tried to focus in the seconds she had before the pain started. _Come out, come out wherever you are,_ she thought, and the power responded, surging through her veins. She winnowed and tugged at her subconscious as pain and blackness began to creep in at the edges of her vision, trying desperately to break the last chains that held her magic back.

 _-You couldn’t save him_.- Phil sitting on the observation deck at SHIELD headquarters, trying in his awkward, loving way to tell her that he wasn't going anywhere. That he was, and would always be there.

 _-There was nothing to do. Nothing you could do.-_ Covered to the elbow in his blood, feeling his rapid breaths through his shirt as she pushed the car even faster, racing to meet a Quinjet that was already too late. - _“It’s all right, kid,” he says, a gentle smile on his face. “I promise.”-_

 _-You couldn’t save him.-_ Loki on the beach, looking up at her with blood on his lips and devotion in his voice and eyes bluer than any sky could hope to be.

 _-Nothing you could do.-_ Parker staring at the ceiling, asking if he was enough. If what he had done was worth it.

 _-You cannot save them all._ -

“Watch me,” she said, and threw the floodgates wide open.

 _The explosion is really quite spectacular, even from this distance, and Loki is briefly disappointed that he is not closer. The ground shakes; a faint shower of dust rains down onto his shoulder as the palace trembles in answer. She is incandescent, transcendent, and he does not need Sight to see the_ seidr _flowing from every inch of her. Even with his eyes closed, he would be able to feel the ripples and eddies of magic coursing through the air around him. The iridescent, silvery mist that heralds her power surrounds the three women. They stand as though frozen within the maelstrom, which pulses and shifts against the shields Frigga has set before spiraling up into the cloudless blue sky. The queen stands a few steps away from Aeslin, and it is clear that the magic does not come from her. It comes from the smaller figure before her, the one dressed in boots and a hoodie made of dragonskin. Aeslin lifts her arms, turning and bringing her hands away from her sides. The storm responds to her movements, drawing around her like a cloak before flaring out again. From the balcony next to him, Loki hears the distinct metallic clatter of a goblet being dropped. The women are silent._

Frigga stood in front of Aeslin, tunic whipping in the onslaught of magic but calm as if she were sitting at tea. A smile lit her face, though when she saw Aeslin’s knees begin to buckle, she stepped forward without fear. Aeslin felt hands on her temples, then her face, and she held herself up as best she could. Frigga’s voice echoed through her head, offering soothing encouragement as she and Eir did their work. Strange, painless jolts ricocheted through Aeslin’s skull; she focused on the origin of each one, marking where is was before moving on to the next. _Leave them,_ she told herself firmly. _Leave them all_. She felt the magic seeping into her fingertips, filling every cell; there was a familiarity to it that ached and sang, and Aeslin realized what Loki must have felt. What he must feel now, to finally be restored to something that had been bound for too long. There was no pain for the first time since New York. No holding back. She allowed her power to flow through her and beyond her, and at last she understood what she’d known all along.

Deep in the magic as she was, it barely registered when Frigga at last took her hands from her face, and when Eir stepped away. Aeslin noticed the absence after a few moments and opened her eyes, smiling at both women. An encouraging nod from Frigga; Aeslin drew power closer to herself, arcing her hands smoothly down and pushing herself into the air with a grin. It was nearly effortless, so unlike the awkward struggles she’d had while bounding from one skirmish to the next during the battle with the Chitauri, and she nearly laughed in delight. Frigga flicked her gaze upward, and the lattice above vanished. Aeslin took the hint, channeling more magic and catapulting herself upward into the bright afternoon sky. A simple flip at the apex; she allowed herself to fall with arms stretched out. Landing in the sand near Frigga’s feet, Aeslin crouched, striking a pose that would have made Tony weep with pride had he been there to see it. She gathered the remnants of the spell within her, then planted her hands on the ground and drove the last bits of magic into the sun-warmed Asgardian earth. Waves of sand rippled away from her fingers, dissipating harmlessly as they struck the edge of the training arena. Brushing the last of the dust onto her pants, Aeslin stood up into perfect stillness.

The quiet was abruptly shattered by Parker’s scream of triumph; Aeslin turned to see both him and Fandral cheering with complete abandon. The nobles around them couldn’t seem to decide how to react. A few stared openly while others clapped in a stunned sort of silence. She gave Parker a small salute, and he returned it with his cane, nearly taking out the couple perched on the bench below his.

_She hits the ground with a grin both pure and achingly familiar. It is one she wears all too rarely. He can count the times he has seen it in full since Coulson died on less than two hands; the most recent was the day they became engaged. It is here again at last, bright and free, and he feels as though his heart will burst. He faintly hears Parker and Fandrals’ cheers from the grounds below; he wishes that he could be there screaming right along with them, princely dignity be damned. He settles instead for grinning so hard that his jaw aches._

_Aeslin and Frigga embrace on the churned-up sand, and at last he stands and stretches. There will be more to see, but he will hear about it from her later. He does not want to spoil her stories for the evening. What he has seen is enough, and he leaves the window with a bit of reluctance. He is not finished, though, not yet._

_Entering the corridor once more, he allows his guise to fade as he wanders onto the adjacent balcony. The noblewomen stand clustered like peacocks against the balustrade, whispering intently among themselves. He insinuates himself slowly and casually until the nearest one catches sight of him and elbows a companion frantically. They all curtsy with varying degrees of grace, each murmuring his name demurely as they bob like garishly-painted corks. Stepping past one woman, he peers over the edge of the balcony as though he’s only just noticed what’s happening. He smiles placidly, ignoring the frantic glances they trade when they think he is not looking._

_“Gods,” he says toward the nearest, sure now from her voice that she is the main instigator. It would be easy to tell from the blush spreading down her face into her too-deep neckline, in any case. He does not bother to take his eyes off his beloved. “She’s magnificent, isn’t she?” He leans against the cool stone and lets his grin deepen, deliberately showing his dimples. “Frigga adores her, too. Says she’s like a wisp of fresh air - one that’s sorely needed a place like this.” He glances at the floor, then bends languidly and picks up the chalice from the ground. "I think you dropped this,” he says, voice almost kind as he hands it to the woman. “You really ought to be more careful.”_

_There is only silence behind him as he strides back out into the hallway. It is a small bit of revenge. Petty, perhaps, but he is sure that this behavior is merely one glaring example out of many. It troubles him more than he likes, this reminder of how much he has changed. How different life is now, and how shallow his once-home feels. He pushes the women to the back of his mind, knowing they will linger for only a few minutes before vanishing like morning fog. Replaced by far more important things._

_Bolstered by Aeslin’s smile and the seed of hope it gives him, he heads further into the palace. He has unfinished business, and it will wait no longer._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedcrack appreciated, as always. Thank you all for sticking around! <3 Merry Early Solsticemas from your favorite dysfunctional brain babies and from the authors. :)


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _and still we're going round  
>  a boy in a garden of lies_

_The door closes behind the last petitioner of the morning, and Odin leans back with a quiet sigh. He glances over at his scribe; the man doesn’t seem to have noticed the sound. He scribbles a last few words before dropping his quill onto the desk with a matching huff of air, clenching and unclenching his fingers to ease the ache. Odin gives a small laugh, and he looks up with a bit of embarrassment._

_“There does seem to be more of them these days, does it not?”_

_Uffe smiles in return. “Or perhaps my hands are little older, my liege,” he replies, studying the still-perfect script on the parchment in front of him._

_“Perhaps. Nothing that a rest won’t cure, or perhaps a visit to the Lady Eir for some of that salve you like.”_

_“I doubt she’s there,” comes the easy reply as Uffe straightens stacks and caps inkwells. “I passed her this morning in the halls; she seemed to be on her way somewhere. I think she has other tasks today, likely far more exciting than old men and their creaking joints.”_

_Odin claps a hand on his friend’s shoulder as they leave the petitioners’ chamber. “No such thing,” he says. The chuckle beginning on his lips dies almost immediately when he looks around. The hallways seem a little emptier than usual, and there is a low buzz of conversation among those clustered around windows and balconies._

_His curiosity gets the better of him. He is slowing, thinking to maneuver toward the nearest window to see what the fuss is all about when a massive, subsonic explosion rattles the floor on which he stands. It is followed by a wave of_ seidr _so powerful that it nearly knocks him from his feet; he nearly stumbles, feeling Uffe’s hand on his elbow. He spares his scribe barely a glance before he all but drags the other man across the wide corridor and to the nearest window. Shoving his way between two courtiers who silence their indignant squawks immediately upon seeing the All-Father’s face, he stares out the arched opening onto the training yards below._

 _Loki’s creature (_ companion, _Frigga’s voice corrects firmly) stands at the center of a vortex of pure magic. He can feel the edges of it through the shields Frigga has set; it batters and flings itself like a wild thing against the barriers that hold it. It is shocking in its intensity, and his first instinct is to react, to crush this new threat before it can reach his palace. His people. His wife, who stands mere steps away from the girl, a proud smile on her face. Odin watches helplessly as his wife steps into the storm, his dream surfacing through cracks in his subconscious. His hands clench on the windowsill, ready for the unthinkable. It does not come._

 _Instead, the power calms. It does not diminish in the least; if anything, it grows stronger as it fills the space within the shields. When Frigga pulls away, the lattice of magic above her vanishing, the child springs upward, smooth and free as a young falcon. The hood is gone, jesses loosed, but the girl is in complete and perfect control as she lands at Frigga’s feet. She buries her hands in the earth, sending ripples of power through the ground and washing over the All-Father in a cool, bracing rush. Though she likely cannot feel the_ seidr _pulsing through the very air, one of the women near the window gasps in delight at the spectacle. Odin hears Uffe breathe out a small laugh._

_“Well,” says the scribe. “Isn’t that a wonder.”_

_Odin narrows his eye thoughtfully as he watches his wife embrace Loki’s companion with unbridled joy. “Yes,” he agrees after a moment. “It is indeed.”_

_***_

_His thoughts still on the training ground and what he’s witnessed, Odin strides distractedly through the hallways of his palace. The morning’s development is unexpected but not entirely unwelcome. If the display on the field is any indication of the girl’s power, she will be a useful tool. An image of his wife on Alfheim flashes across her vision, brow quirked and lips curved, and he inwardly sighs as he half-heartedly corrects himself. Not a tool. An ally. An unpredictable one, loyal only to the once-god of chaos incarnate. A man so cunning, so charismatic that he induced Odin’s very heir to treason. It is not exactly a comforting thought. Frigga trusts them both, however, and Odin has no choice but to leave them in her capable hands. No choice but to trust her judgment as he has through the long millennia._

_The Einherjar standing guard at the entrance to his rooms come to complete attention as he approaches. He nods as he passes, wending his way toward his study. He needs a moment to think, perhaps to rest before the afternoon’s string of petitioners and the evening council meeting. A wisp of magic, and the door to his personal library opens. Odin lets out a soft breath of relief that dies on his lips when he sees the figure sprawled in a chair, legs draped untidily over one side. Loki smiles in greeting._

_“Ah,” he says casually. “There you are. I was beginning to wonder if I’d guessed wrong.”_

_Odin’s eye narrows as he studies Loki. “What are you doing here?”_

_“Thought we’d have a chat,” replies the boy. “Started one a few years ago, as you might recall, but we never did_ quite _finish. No time like the present, though I will say it’s been a beast trying to get you alone. It’s almost as though you’ve been avoiding me.” He shifts in the large chair, bringing his feet to the floor. “I passed you in the hallways earlier today; you looked… rattled.” A grin, familiar as it is infuriating. “I figured you’d end up here, just as you always do.”_

_“Do I.”_

_A sinuous shrug. “Believe it or not, you’re a creature of habit just like we lesser beings are. You always retreat to this study when you’re troubled.” He catches himself. “Retire. This is where you_ retire _when you’re troubled. My apologies.”_

_“I don’t have time for this,” Odin replies curtly. He turns away, heading for the door, which is still open a crack. He has not even taken a full step before it slowly and quietly closes._

_“Then you’ll make time.”_

_A faint smile comes to Odin’s lips, unbidden, and he shoves it down before he speaks._

_“So that’s how you want it.”_

_“And if you’d stop for a moment and think, you’d realize this is how_ you _want it, as well.” Loki’s voice is calm. “Leave if you want, though; I’ll just follow, and we’ll finish this out in the hallways where everyone can hear. I do mean_ every _one, by the way. I’ll make sure of that.”_

_Odin scoffs as he turns back to Loki, who regards him coolly from the chair nearest the fire. He does not so much as flinch under his father’s glare, merely meeting his gaze with clear blue eyes. There is a certainty in that look, one that Odin has seen in his own face more than once. This is the face of a man who has absolutely nothing to lose. Odin allows a small huff of air to pass his lips, a breath just short of completely dismissing the boy._

_“You’d tell the whole palace what you are? Just like that.”_

_“What’s worse?” Loki asks in reply. “The monster, or the one who brought it home? The one who lied about it for a thousand years?” He leans back, gesturing slightly to the large chair at the other end of the fireplace. “Come now. I’m sure you have much to do this afternoon, what with the war and all, so the sooner we finish this, the sooner we can go back to ignoring each other in all but the most unavoidable circumstances.”_

_Odin remains standing, surveying Loki critically as he would any petitioner. Memory flashes through him, of the young boy standing in front of the throne, the one that held his hand as they toured the Vaults and spoke of the future. A future that he had promised, perhaps, and one that had been destroyed beyond recall in the space of less than three days. A single question that had remained unanswered, and Odin suppresses the feeling that rises in his throat. Other memory flares, more recent. A broken spear, a ruined palace, with Loki nowhere in sight. The boy is here now, and perhaps that is enough. Perhaps it is not. He steels himself, Skuld’s voice strong in his ears._

_“Speak your piece,” he tells the boy without moving a step closer to the chair Loki has indicated._

_Loki shakes his head with a patient smile. “That’s not how this works. I’m done explaining myself for the moment, thank you.”_

_“You think you’re in_ any _place to order anyone?” Odin allows himself a raspy chuckle. “I could have had you executed for treason. By returning to Asgard, you’ve deliberately defied me, and we won’t even begin to talk about what happened while I was on Vanaheim.”_

 _Loki holds up a finger. “Returning to Asgard was not my idea; as a matter of fact, I specifically told them_ not _to do it. Ask Heimdall if you don’t believe me.”_

_“And the Vault?”_

_“Oh, we’ll get to_ that _in a minute,” replies his son. “Don’t think for a_ second _that I don’t know what you’ve done to me, but that can wait. I want an answer. The one you wouldn’t give me. I think three years is long enough.”_

_“I thought we could unite our kingdoms one day,” Odin replies, the words almost automatic on his lips. “An alliance between our realms. Just as I told you.”_

_The boy leans forward slightly, face intent. “Wrong.”_

_The All-Father stares at him for a moment, eye narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”_

_“Wrong with a capital G, as Barton would say,” comes the reply. “Try again.”_

_“I am not here to play games,” the All-Father retorts. “You wanted an answer. I gave you one.”_

_“Not your little stories. Not the tales of your compassion, scooping up Laufey’s abandoned freak in a moment of unbridled charity. Not your hope to bind the realms. No more lies, old man. I want the truth, if you can even remember what that is.”_

_Loki’s voice has not risen in the least. He still speaks with the same fluid grace he has always had. This is not the boy in the Vault, the one screaming for answers with tears on his face. This is someone else.  Stern. Commanding. Eerily calm._

Regal.

_The word flutters merrily through his mind before Odin mentally slaps it away; at the edge of consciousness, he hears what might have been Verdani’s cheerful snicker. “You asked my purpose. My reasons. I have given them to you. We are finished here.” He turns again to leave but stops at the boy’s words._

_“Wrong again,” he intones lazily, inexorable as the tides. “It’s as though you’re not even trying.” Loki rests his chin on one hand as he studies his father. “I’ve had plenty of opportunity to think about this._ Loads _of time between the arguments and the Goblin’s Teeth battles and helping to save Midgard and all, and the more I think about it, the less sense you make.”_

_There is nothing holding Odin in place, much as he wishes there were. Nothing forcing him to stand and listen to the boy. Nothing but those piercing blue eyes, so like Frigga’s. So like his own. Nothing but memory, and yet he cannot move._

_“I’ve thought of every possibility,” the boy continues. “Followed every thread I could find, all the way to the end, and there’s always something that could go wrong. Always something missing. Always a hole in the logic, and as you and I well know, you don’t like loose ends. You don’t appreciate beauty in chaos. Everything needs to be neatly arranged in rows. Everything has its place, and its purpose. Except me._

_“How exactly did you plan to make an alliance with the Jotun? Show up in Laufey’s throne room with his bastard son in tow? Take off the glamour and hope that they didn’t immediately try to kill us both for your duplicity? Or were you going to bide your time? Step into the power vacuum that might exist after he died? Do you honestly believe they would accept a puppet king raised by the All-Father himself? You couldn’t even get them to accept your terms at the negotiating table.”_

_Loki seems to take Odin’s silence as permission to continue. “Or what about my engagement? How could I have bound Asgard to_ any _other realm? The glamour couldn’t last forever, and the second anyone found out, the result would have been the same. You passed off a monster as a prince. As your_ son _. How do you think your allies would react if they knew the full story? Would they still be willing to support you?”_

_Odin’s voice sounds hollow even to himself. “We were trying to protect you.”_

_“From whom? Thor? He told you once that once he was king - once_ he _was king, which was really the plan all along - that he would end the frost giants. Kill every one of the monsters.”_

_“I remember.”_

_“You never corrected him. Never told him that they_ weren’t _monsters. Never told either_ one _of us that there was one redeeming scrap of anything within the Jotun. They invaded without warning. They lurked in the shadows, stole away children, spoiled milk and did everything but rot fruit on the vine. They were creatures, so far beneath us that extermination seemed to Thor to be a kindness. To be the right thing to do, and you agreed. You stood there in the Vault with our hands in yours and you_ agreed _. But when I find out I’m one of them, when this_ creature _tries to prove himself worthy to be the son_ you _claimed him to be, he’s treated like all the others. Cast out. Abandoned to the Void for doing_ exactly _what Thor would have, if given half the chance.”_

_“I had no choice. The use of the Bridge-”_

_“-is punishable by death, though I didn’t know it at the time, and if you expect me to believe that’s why you exiled me, then you’re a greater fool than I thought. I didn’t even know the Bridge_ could _be used as a weapon until Heimdall mentioned it. But you didn’t kill me. You couldn’t even find it in your heart to put a monster out of its misery. How compassionate of you. Instead, you abandoned the monster when it no longer served a purpose. Just as Laufey did.” A sharp exhale, and a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Laufey puts me down, you pick me up. You drop me, another picks me up.” His voice catches so quickly that Odin almost misses it, and Loki recovers without batting an eye. “Dropped and picked up, again and again. Rather a tiring game, if you ask me. I’m glad it’s on the last round, but so far you seem to be the winner. No one else has dropped me twice. Points to you.”_

_“Your mother. Your brother. Your-”_

_“Be careful, old man.” Loki’s voice holds something so deep, so powerful that Odin feels a brief stab of what might be fear. “Be very,_ very _careful about what you say next.”_

_“They asked me to spare you. I did so.”_

_“Stop. Stop_ right _there. Do not put this on her. On_ any _of them. This was your choice, and yours alone._ You _stripped me._ You _cast me out among creatures so far beneath us that death seemed kinder. You did everything but hand me the knife to cut my own throat and spare myself the humiliation. A prince of ashes. A freak.” He stops for a moment, considering. “You’re wrong about Midgard, by the way. We all were, but you persist in your refusal to see. As always.” Loki settles back a little as he goes on. “This place? Your beloved Aesir? They cannot hold a candle to them. I would take ten of my friends over a thousand of your Einherjar. One of them over any throne, any power you could offer. They picked me up. They gathered what was left and did their level best to try and put it back together again. They befriended me without question. Gave me_ love _without question, and without a single thought of what I might do for them, which was remarkably little.” He shakes his head. “This was your choice. Just as it was your choice to declare that I never set foot on this place again. Just as it was your choice to call upon blood magic to ensure that your edict was fulfilled.” A faint smile. “And so the thread ends. Snapped. Unraveled beyond even the Norns’ repair. A far cry from a father whose only instinct was to_ protect _me.”  He stands then, crossing to stand a few steps from Odin. “So we come full circle, and I ask again. A dying man’s last request. Tell me why you saved me in the first place.”_

_Odin looks at the man before him, suddenly feeling very old and very tired. Loki leans forward, voice quiet, but a hint of his words in the Vault echoing in the space between them._

_“Tell. Me.”_

_Memory surfaces, clear and brilliant as Odin’s shoulders slump ever so slightly. “Baldur,” he finally says, letting out a long, slow breath. “His name was Baldur.”_

_It is clearly not the answer Loki was expecting, and his brows knit. The line that forms between them is a perfect mirror to the one that Frigga gets with the same expression. Odin shakes his head gently as he turns from Loki, allowing himself to fall into his own chair. He wants to look at his hands, at the fire, at anywhere except the man standing before him, face unreadable in the firelight. Instead, he holds Loki’s gaze, knowing that he owes him this, at least._

_“His name was Baldur,” he repeats. “Thor’s brother. We thought…” Odin sighs. “It was during the height of the campaign against Jotun. It was a mistake, perhaps. Unwise at best, arrogant at worst, but something she wanted so badly.”_ We. Something we wanted. _The thought tugs at him, but he presses on. “We thought we had concealed Frigga’s pregnancy well enough, but someone learned. We never found out who the assassin was, or who sent them. It could have been anyone, Jotun or otherwise; wars are rife with confusion. With opportunity.”_

_Loki remains silent, a tightness in his jaw._

_“Frigga survived, barely, and at great cost. The babe was born far too early; there was nothing we could do. He lived less than a day.” He looks down at his hands at last. “We could not even mourn him; doing so would have been admitting that we had suffered a loss. It would have been admitting weakness at a time that we could show exactly none. There was no time to grieve, and no outward reason to do so. Frigga suffered far more than I ever did. She felt the loss so keenly, so deeply… it was unfathomable, yet she carried on.” He looks back up at Loki with the ghost of a smile. “As she always has.”_

_There is still no response from the other, and after a moment, Odin speaks into the deepening quiet. “The end of the campaign was brutal. The Jotun defended their home like with a strength, a ferocity I’ve rarely seen.” He brushes his fingers across the patch on his eye. “It was only when Laufey had no other option that he agreed to a truce, such as it was.” He leans forward, resting his arms on his knees. “I heard you first. I wasn’t sure what the sound was; it seemed a strange noise, so loud in the middle of such devastation. I was curious, and I followed it. That’s when I found you. No one with you. Nothing to be seen but bodies, broken stone, and a baby left in the cold. I thought it a sign. A gift. Perhaps I thought of an alliance, but not then. In that moment, I only thought…” he spreads his hands, hearing the helplessness in his own voice. “I could think of nothing else but her. She was so sad, my son. I’ve never seen such sorrow.” His voice catches, stopping the words that nearly tumble from his lips._

I’ve never seen such sorrow. Not since the moment before you fell. _The realization strikes him a second, so hard that it nearly takes his breath away. The same sorrow. The same loss._

 _Odin meets Loki’s eyes as best he can. “What I told you in the Vault was true. You were my son. It was not easy; I was fond of you, certainly, and you made her happy. For that I was grateful. After a time, that gratitude and fondness grew. I loved you as best I could, Loki, as best I knew how, even knowing what you truly were. But you have_ always _been Frigga’s son first. You have been from the very moment she saw you, from the very moment she held you, and for better or worse, you always shall be.”_

_“Not even a relic, then,” Loki says after a long, taut moment. His voice is flat. “A replacement. You dressed up a monster to stand in for the child you really wanted.”_

_The words strike deeper than perhaps they should, but Odin keeps his voice steady._

_“Think what you must. You asked for the truth, and I have given it.”_

_He expects something scathing to fall from Loki’s lips. Something vicious. Biting. Clever. Anything at all. He is surprised then, when Loki simply turns his back and walks away. The door to the study closes firmly behind him, and Odin stares at it for a long, quiet time._

_***_

_Loki wanders through the palace in a sort of daze, barely seeing the courtiers that shift to let him through. He feels adrift and more than a little lost, and after a few moments, he ducks into an alcove to gather himself as best he can._

Find your ground _. Sam’s voice surfaces in his mind._ It’s right there beneath you.

 _Two deep breaths, then another, but he needs more than this. He knows it, feels it in his spine. He casts out a few wisps of_ seidr _, allowing them to wander until they find their targets. Three land almost immediately in the grounds on the far side of the palace, confirming that Aeslin and Frigga are likely still in the arena. The last filament settles somewhere in the floors below; Loki takes a final breath, then leaves his temporary sanctuary in search of his brother._

_He finds Thor in one of the lower hallways. His brother stands with Sif and his Warriors on a balcony, arms folded as he leans against a wall. Loki closes his eyes briefly at the sight._

Damn _._

_Steeling himself once more, he saunters onto the balcony, coming to a stop next to Thor. Sif glances over her shoulder, dismissing Loki almost immediately as she turns back to the spectacle below. The others give no notice of Loki’s entrance or do not bother to acknowledge him. Either is acceptable at the moment, and Loki cannot even manage a whiff of irritation. His brother gives him a smile without taking his eyes off the two on the sand._

_“I can’t figure out who’s winning,” Thor observes after a moment, his voice quiet enough that it can barely be heard over the noise from outside. “Just when I think one’s got the upper hand, the other does something completely unexpected. Neither of them is showing the least sign of tiring; I wonder how long they’re going to keep this up?”_

_Loki mimics his brother’s position, watching the two as they spar. After a minute’s study, he shakes his head. “She’s getting tired, but damned if she’s going to admit it,” he answers, matching his brother’s tone. “Mother’s going to have to call it. Aeslin won’t.”_

_“How can you tell?”_

_“Left shoulder.” He sounds distracted, even to his own ears. “Do you have a moment?”_

_Something in his voice catches at his brother; Thor barely needs to look at him before he straightens. “Of course. Lead the way.”_

_They reach Thor’s rooms first; Loki shoves the doors open without thinking, already forming a web of magic that will block their conversation from any listeners. Thor closes out the noise and relative bustle of the hallway outside, then turns to Loki with concern etched on his face._

_“What’s going on?” he asks as he watching Loki prowl from one end of the antechamber to the other. “What-”_

_“Baldur.” The word cuts across Thor’s voice, and Loki’s brother stares at him in perfect confusion._

_“Who?”_

_“_ Baldur _.” He repeats the name insistently, studying Thor for any reaction. He only shakes his head in bewilderment._

_“I know of none by that name. Who is he? Someone important?”_

_A flood of relief washes over him at the thought that his brother does not know. It is not like Thor to lie; truth be told, he is nearly as bad at it as Aeslin. He will feign ignorance, change the subject or misdirect as only he can, but he will never deliberately lie. It is not in his nature, and though Thor has changed much in the last few years, Loki is wildly glad that this part of him has remained the same._

_“Loki,” Thor begins, his voice taking on the warm, careful tone that Sam taught all of them to use during Loki’s worst moments, and he cannot decide if wants to hug his brother or beat him senseless. “Who are you talking about?”_

_“Your brother.”_

_“You’re my brother, Loki,” comes the reply. “We’ve been through this; I don’t care what Odin says. I don’t care what_ any _one says. I-”_

 _“Shut up and_ listen, _Thor. I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about Odin’s true son. Your younger brother.”_

 _“I don’t_ have _one, Loki. You are the only brother I’ve ever known. I’ve never heard this name before; I have no idea who you’re talking about. I have no other siblings. No sisters. No brothers.”_

_“You did,” Loki replies. “He died less than a day after he was born. I was his replacement.”_

_Thor stares at his brother in shock for a long minute; a tiny muscle begins to twitch in his cheek. “Where did you learn this? How?” The rage building in his tone is not directed at Loki, but the news itself. Yet another secret kept from one who is meant to be All-Father. One who is to be trusted with all knowledge, but is routinely kept in the dark._

_The adrenaline that has kept Loki going finally begins to drain away, and he sags into the nearest chair as though his strings have been cut. “Odin,” he answers wearily, leaning his head against the back of the chair and closing his eyes. “I asked for the truth, and for once, I got it.” Half a laugh escapes his lips. “Every time. Every single time I think I’ve got something figured out. Every time I’ve decided that something makes one damn ounce of sense…” A puff of air as he opens his hands. “Poof. Away it goes._ Gods _, I hate this place.”_

_A heavy thump sounds to his right, and he cracks open one eye to look at the bottle Thor’s placed on the table at his elbow. “Do you honestly think that’s a good idea?” he asks, and Thor manages a bit of a smile._

_“No,” he says, “but I think we’re both going to need it.” He drags a chair noisily across the chamber, bringing it close enough that their knees almost touch. Pulling the stopper from the bottle, he hands it to Loki. “Now, brother. Tell me everything.”_

_***_

It was nearly sunset by the time Loki returned to his own rooms. The doors seemed to weigh a thousand pounds each, and he sighed as he pushed one open. Kicking off his boots immediately upon entering, he shucked off his coat and tossed it over a chair. A faint sense of normalcy struck him at the actions, long habit after Malibu and London, and a bit of tension trickled from his shoulders as he called out a hopeful greeting.

Her answer drifted back from the bath chamber, but Loki was already padding barefoot through his rooms, lured by steam and a clean, floral scent. Aeslin sat ensconced in the huge, sunken bathtub, only her head above the water and surrounded by bubbles. Her eyes opened as she heard him enter the room, but her welcoming smile faded a little when she saw him.

“He’s not going to remove the curse, is he.”

Loki shook his head as he lay on his stomach on the heated tiles next to the tub; he rested his cheek on one hand as he looked at her. Reaching out with the other, he wrapped a damp  tendril of her hair distractedly around his finger, mind still in Odin’s study. She sighed gently.

“You didn’t ask him.”

He shook his head again, eyes still on the curl around his knuckle. “It… didn’t go exactly as planned.”

“We’ll figure something out. I promise.” She studied his face a for a moment. “You very much look like a man that needs a hot, relaxing bath.” A bit of a grin touched the edges of her lips as she indicated the massive tub with a lift of her chin. “And it so happens that there’s _just_ enough room in here for one more, if we squish.”

“You don’t say.”

“I _do_ , as a matter of fact,” she answered, “and I’d love the company.”

Needing no real convincing after his tangle with the All-Father, Loki pushed up from the warm floor. He shed his clothes without a thought, stepping into the welcome heat of the bath. She beckoned; he rested against her, his back against her chest and her arms around him. Feeling the tightness drain from his body only slowly, he sighed, willing himself to relax. She planted a kiss on his shoulder.

“Talk to me.”

He told her of the conversation in Odin’s study, repeating almost word for word what the All-Father had said. It was no easier this time than it had been with Thor, but she listened without interruption even when he faltered. Her arms stayed tight around his chest, and he twined his fingers tightly with hers, pulling himself even closer.

“A souvenir,” he finally said. “Not a weapon. Not a tool to build an alliance. Not even a war prize. A souvenir brought home from the campaign.” He allowed a tiny laugh to pass his lips; it sounded too close to pathetic for his taste, and so he shoved it down. “Not even a _good_ souvenir, mind you. One you pick up on a whim. One of those goofy, awkward things that doesn’t match your decor and fits exactly nowhere, but your wife _loves_ it, so you can’t get rid of it. You just sort of have to bide your time until it does something stupid, and then you can banish it to the basement with all the other hideous things you’ve amassed over the years.” He let out something approaching a giggle.

A gentle sigh. “Exactly how drunk are you right now?”

“Not a _quarter_ as much as I’d like to be. Thor had obligations this evening, and I decided at the last moment that staggering drunkenly through the hallways in the middle of the afternoon would do nothing to improve my reputation, appealing though the thought was.”

She laughed gently at the image as she smoothed her hands along his shoulders and arms. Her voice was thoughtful as she idly traced a line across his chest. “He did say he loved you, though.”

“As best he could,” Loki replied, unconsciously mimicking Odin’s tone. “Do you know what else he loves? Sleipnir. Gungnir. The first berries of the season. Pleasant things. _Useful_ things. Not souvenirs.” He gave a frustrated sigh, allowing his head to fall back against her shoulder as he stared at a ceiling wreathed in fragrant steam. “ _Gods_ , why does this _bother_ me so much?”

“Because you need to matter,” she answered. “You need a purpose.”

He brought her fingers out of the water, kissing the tips of them one by one. “I have a purpose,” he told her between pecks. “Just not here.”

Aeslin shrugged lightly against his back. “Maybe, maybe not,” she observed. “You can’t tell the future any more than anyone else can, and that includes Odin. Give yourself time. One day to mope. Wasn’t that the rule in the Warehouse?”

A chuckle. “Very well. One day of sulking.” He moved his lips down to her wrist, then brought their hands back into the water. “Even though this day shouldn’t be about _me_ at all. It was supposed to be about you. _Your_ day for revelation, and gods below, what a revelation you were.” He twisted carefully out of her arms, turning to face her. Loki pushed back a little, drawing her out to where the tub was deepest. “You were radiant. Incredible. I ran out of superlatives less than five minutes in.”

“High praise from someone who wasn’t supposed to be watching in the first place,” she laughed, draping her arms loosely around his neck. There was no real reproach in her tone, and Loki grinned back.

“You and I both know I wasn’t going to miss a chance to see you shatter those walls,” he replied without a trace of apology, “and you did not disappoint, love. You were, and are, magnificent. Besides, I needed the morale boost, and what better person to give me one than the woman of whom I stand in constant awe?”

Aeslin rolled her eyes a little. “Constant.”

“Very _nearly_ constant; it’s a small enough difference to be insignificant, and even at your most disastrous, I’ll gladly take you over any other being in the realms.” His mind flashed back to the women on the balcony, and his arms unconsciously tightened around her back. She responded with a strangled sort of hiccup, and he let go immediately, scrutinizing her face. Her lip twitched a little as she looked everywhere but him, and he stifled a laugh.

“Let me see.”

“No,” she said, body still completely beneath the bubbles.

“Come on, little one.” he soothed, shifting to one side so that he could see her back; she adjusted accordingly, keeping her body turned toward his. “It can’t be that bad; let me have a look.” She raised an eyebrow, chin nearly at the water’s surface, and he nodded. “No, I suppose you’re right. She can be quite… enthusiastic, I’ll give her that, but from the bit I saw, you gave as good as you got.”

That earned him an indelicate snort, but she pivoted and stood slowly; water trailed in rivulets down a back that was mottled in a breathtaking array of blues, purples and reds beneath her tattoo. He stared openly. “Holy _sh-_ is that a _boot_ print?”  

“No.” She slipped back beneath the water. “ _That’s_ where I hit a pillar; the boot print is on the front. Pretty sure it’s a size A for ‘queen of love and marriage, my ass’, and if you choose this moment to remind me that you told me so, you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he promised, “but didn’t it hurt when I was leaning on you just now?”

She shook her head with a smile. “Not really. I was in a comfortable spot, and holding you was soothing. You managed to hug at just the wrong angle, that’s all.”

He pulled her carefully back into his arms, lazily pushing them both back to the edge of the tub with one foot. She settled back against him.

“Don’t suppose I can help,” Loki ventured after a few moments; she was shaking her head before he even finished.

“Much as I’d love you to, Eir and Frigga were very specific. I still can’t have any outside magic for the time being, just a few traditional remedies.” A light laugh. “Hence why I’ve been soaking in a giant jacuzzi for the last two hours.”

“Traditional remedies.” Loki made a brief show of considering, humming thoughtfully against her neck until she batted him gently away with a snicker. “I could kiss it better, if you'd like. Can't get much more traditional than that.” She looked at him skeptically, and he gave her an innocent grin. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

“Shameless hussy.”

“Intoxicating minx.” A knowing smirk. “And I note that you haven’t said no.”

“I’m thinking about it,” she admitted. “I mean, there is something to be said for tradition.”

“Take your time,” he answered breezily, running a hand up her arm. “ _I_ plan to.”

A laugh as she rested her head on his bicep. “Five more minutes.”

“Well,” he laughed, “I can certainly _try_ for that, but it certainly wouldn't be a  _quality_ job.”

“In the _tub_ , you troll,” came the drowsy reply. “Five more minutes in the _tub._ Are you _trying_ to get banished to the couch?”

Loki smiled against her hair as they rested together, completely relaxed at last. “Only if you promise to be there, too.”

 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You pushed me down, for all the world to see  
>  I guess that's your price, for my loyalty_
> 
> _You lay me out, in hopes that I'd wilt away  
>  But strength rained down, and love provided shade_
> 
> _So while the pageant of lies  
>  Spills from your tongue  
> Don't blame me for your Kingdom Come_
> 
>  
> 
> (feedback appreciated! love to you all! <3   
> opening lyric from "brother and sister" by erasure  
> closing lyric from "blame" by collective soul, which you should go listen to immediately because it's a major prompt for this whole story GO ON DO IT)


	28. Chapter 28

Loki placed a stack of books at the edge of the table, doing his best not to disturb Parker’s study. The young man looked up anyway, stylus behind his ear. Loki gave him a faint smile as he set another, smaller pile near the first one.

“You’ll want to wear gloves for that one,” he warned, indicating the top book as he shook his hand gently. “It got a nibble in.”

Parker smirked a little, holding up a pair of what looked to be well-used falconer’s gloves. “Came prepared this time,” he replied. “That’s the pile that has to stay here?”

“Unfortunately, yes. You can take the larger stack, but we’ve got to return the others before we leave. They’re not allowed off the premises.” At Parker’s raised eyebrow, Loki shrugged. “Not even I can win them all.”

Parker shook his head with a grin. “Thanks, man,” he said, already turning back to the tome in front of him. Loki merely nodded, hefting the grimoire in his own hands as he made his way back to the table where Aeslin sat, nearly concealed behind her own pile of books. Loki brushed his hand along her shoulders, pausing briefly to massage the back of her neck before retaking his own seat across from her.

She stretched and managed to stifle most of a sigh, and he gave her a sympathetic look. “Anything?”

“Not that I can find in this one,” she replied, closing the book in front of her. “Just more of the same. Not even a _mention_ of someone getting out of one without the creator’s involvement. Not even by proxy, though apparently that was tried on several occasions and with apparently spectacular results.” Aeslin pulled a small face. “Illustrations and everything.” A smile twitched at his lips, but she didn’t see it; her eyes were on the worn cover of the book in front of her. Her voice was thoughtful and a little hesitant. “Would Frigga know?”

“I doubt it,” answered Loki.

“And you’re not even going to ask her,” Aeslin finished. She exhaled sharply through her nose, leaning back in her chair with arms folded. One finger tapped idly on her sleeve as she regarded him, a clear sign of irritation.

“There are disciplines in which I passed Frigga long ago,” Loki said, tempering his words carefully. “The… darker magics tend to be one of those disciplines.”

Aeslin was clearly not convinced; the slow, steady drumming of her green-lacquered index finger said as much. “You expect me to believe that the Queen of the Valkyries has no interest in ‘darker magic’?” she asked, something hovering just beneath the surface of her voice. “That one of the most powerful mages in the universe doesn’t know how to curse someone?”

“Not when she has someone who can do it for her,” Loki answered simply, ignoring the unwelcome flickers of memory that tried to surface. “Does she have knowledge? Probably somewhere, tucked in under a thousand more important things. Does she have knowledge we _need_? Likely not without research, which is what we’re already doing.”

“So you won’t even ask. Let me guess. You haven’t mentioned anything about it to her. You’re going to put it off until you’re in the middle of a conversation and then suddenly you’re just… not there anymore. In pieces. However the hell it works.” Her voice caught a little, but she pretended that it hadn’t, so he overlooked it as well.

Loki looked at her, blue eyes meeting silver. “And what if she already knows?”

Aeslin’s finger stopped its restless movement as she stared at him.

“I don’t believe that.” Her voice was slow and thoughtful when she finally answered. “It doesn’t make sense. Not with how hard she worked to save you; I know you weren’t awake for most of that, but some of the things we had to do…” she trailed off, then shook her head. “Not with how many times she’s had to intervene with Odin.”

“How often she’s _said_ she had to,” countered Loki. He sighed as he shoved his book aside, reaching across the table to take both her hands in his. “Look. I don’t want to doubt her any more than I need to, which is one reason that I haven’t brought her into this. I need to be able to trust her, and strange as it seems, the less I ask her right now, the better.” He stroked his thumbs idly along hers. “She knows about Baldur,” he continued, lowering his voice as he glanced over at Parker. The young man didn’t lift his head from his study, having completely tuned his friends out in his usual fashion, and Loki turned back to Aeslin. “She knew, and she never mentioned a word. Not before the Bridge. Not after. She told me that she had seen the Norns, but only after I pried it out of her. She said she was curious. Her Sight was clouded. I wanted to press more, but it would have been useless. One doesn’t speak of a visit to the Norns, even if they’d like to. More often than not, it’s little better than impossible. They make sure of that.”

 _Send me back._ The words echoed through his head like a flicker of lightning, gone again before he could place them. It was followed immediately by an image of Odin in the study, and Loki shook that off as rapidly as possible before he continued.

“I trust Frigga. I don’t want to bring her into this. It’s between Odin and me.”

Her lip quirked as she studied their twined hands. “ _Just_ Odin, hmm?”

A soft chuckle. “You’re different. You’ve transcended all this familial nonsense. I trust you more than any other being in the realms. Thor’s a close second, I admit, and Parker’s probably an even closer third, but there’s nothing I’ve kept from you.” He let out a small huff of air. “You’re my shelter. My safe harbor. A soulmate, if there is such a thing. Which there isn’t.”

She laughed gently. “But if there were…”

He grinned back, bringing her hands to his lips. “If there were, your name would be carved into my very bones. Alas. I’ll just have to settle for matching pajamas.”

Her face became serious again. “And you’re not going to ask Odin, either.”

Loki sighed, staring at their hands once more. “I can’t.”

Aeslin nudged his fingers lightly. “Can’t?” Her voice was quiet and curious.

He shook his head, completely unable to meet her eyes. “Can’t,” he repeated. “I can’t… I can’t beg for my life. Not again.” Trying to contain the tremor in his voice and hands, he shut his eyes. “Not again. Not him.”

_Stones sharp as glass grind against his knees. They burrow into his bones, colder than the stars circling above. Colder than the fingers at his throat and the knife against his stomach._

_“Beg,” the monster croons, and Loki feels himself lifted from the ground._

_“No,” he spits back in the second before the world splits and shadows begin to consume him from the inside out. His screams will be the last thing silenced. They always are when he defies him._

“ _Ástin._ ” Her voice cut through the haze; he could tell from her tone that it was not the first time she had spoken the word, and his eyes flew open. He stared at his hands, white and strained where they tangled with hers. Loki pried them loose, wincing at the dents his knuckles had left in her fingers.

“Sorry,” he managed. “Sorry. Gods, I’m so so sorry-”

She shook her head, watching him smooth his fingers a little desperately along hers to try and restore circulation. “It’s all right, Loki,” was all she said.

Loki let out a small, shuddering breath at hearing his name on her lips, wanting to hate himself for the sound. He clung to the word as kept his eyes on the table. “Not him. Not anyone. Never again. I’m sorry, love. I can’t.”

Aeslin brushed fingers along his jaw, lifting gently until their eyes met.

“I’m sorry,” she told him. “I didn’t realize. I should have, and I’m so sorry.”

He kissed her palm in mute acceptance of her apology.

“We’ll fix this.” Her voice was firm. “We’ll find a way.”

“And if we don’t?”

“Then a war will be the _least_ of Odin’s problems. Hell, I’ll start Ragnarok myself.”

***

Ragnbjorg surveyed the stack of books that Parker had given her, taking note of each title in turn. A brisk nod, and then she pushed the whole pile back toward him.

“You’ll probably want this one as well,” she said, pulling a thin book from beneath her desk and adding it to the others.

“Thanks,” Parker said, tilting it to check the name. “I appreciate that. So I’m good to take all of these off the premises?”

The head librarian smiled. “Yes. I’m sure some of them will be glad to see the light of day again.”

Parker gave an answering grin as he carefully loaded the books into his borrowed bag. “When do I need them back? I didn’t see anything about how long I can keep them.”

“Well, it’s not as though I don’t know where to find you,” came the reply, “and there’s not exactly a line for those. I doubt anyone has borrowed them since Longshanks here.” She inclined her head toward Loki, who was leaning against the doorframe as he waited.

“Elin was very thorough,” he agreed with a slight laugh. “ _Start at the_ real _beginning, boy. Not where they tell you it begins. Don’t be lazy._ ”

A snort. “You even sound like her,” the librarian said, her smile fond.  

“I told her she’d be immortal,” Loki replied. “Got to make sure it happens somehow.” He cleared his throat a little awkwardly, then straightened as he spoke to Parker. “Ready?”

“Ready,” answered the young man. “On to the next adventure.”

***

_There are far more important things to do. Far more important things that pull at his attention and his time, but he finds himself distracted. The waters have been muddied further. Something has changed. He stares across the bustling marketplace that sprawls onto the very palace steps, focusing on nothing in particular. Or so he thinks._

_He realizes after a few moments that he has been watching three familiar figures weave through the crowds for quite some time. The Midgardian boy carries a worn leather pack that he recognizes as an old one of Thor’s. It is clearly heavy, but the young man makes no complaint as he laughs and talks with his companions. The girl walks next to him, but her hand is in Loki’s. The day is windy; a few locks of the prince’s dark hair have escaped the ponytail at his neck, and Loki idly tucks them back behind his ear as he speaks, the smile on his face visible even from Odin’s position._

_A porter laden with baskets stumbles into Loki, nearly knocking the boy from his feet as he tries to save his wares. Loki catches one of the woven containers with an easy grace, releasing his woman’s hand in order to steady the other man. The grin does not leave his face as he shakes his head, carrying the dropped basket in one arm and gesturing for the man to precede him up the steps into the palace. A voice rises unbidden in Odin’s mind. His own._

\- “It was no lie. My son is dead.” -

_The words tease and wriggle through his mind. He watches as the four finish weaving through the knot of people at the entrance of the palace and make their way inside._

_He wavers for a moment, duty tugging at him, but a moment later, he follows them._

_***_

Loki shifted the basket under his arm, taking Aeslin’s hand again as they climbed the steps and entered the palace. The porter walked silently next to Aeslin, still a little in shock at the turn of events outside the palace. Parker strolled next to Loki.

“I’m supposed to meet Thor and Fandral,” the young man said, glancing around the sunlit space. “We’ve got a bit of last-minute planning to do.”

Loki mimed counting on his fingers. “Thor. Fandral. Planning. You know, I think that _might_ be the fourth time I’ve heard those three words together in my entire life? Truly a day to remember.”

“You know,” Parker said, “we can always _un_ plan just as fast.”

“Oh, trust me,” Loki replied. “I am _well_ aware of Thor’s ability to throw plans completely out a window. It’s one of his finest qualities.”

Parker rolled his eyes as he none-too-gently bumped Loki with his sack of books. Loki gave him a half-innocent smirk in return. “Jerk.”

“God of _mis_ chief,” corrected Loki. “You’ll get it right eventually.”

Parker shook his head as he broke into a full smile. “Eventually. I’ll catch you guys later.”

“May I join you for a bit?” Aeslin asked. “Forseti told me he wanted to see me when I had a minute. I think it’s on your way.”

“Of course! I’ll say hi, too. I haven’t seen him in a while, and he’s got some great stories.” He nodded to the porter. “Nice meeting you!”

An answering, somewhat awkward wave from the man, and then they were gone, dodging expertly through the crowds. Loki looked over at the porter, then at the basket in his own hands. “Kitchen, then?”

“Your highness,” the man began, doing his best not to stutter as he kept up with Loki’s strides, “this really isn’t necessary. I’m sure you have far more important things to worry about today.”

“Perhaps.” He smiled as he effortlessly scooped another bag from the porter’s load, ignoring the stares that followed him. “Perhaps not. Let’s not keep Ingrid waiting.”

The kitchens were busy; Loki followed the other man to where the supplies were delivered, carefully stashing his baskets where the porter indicated they should go. He then followed the other to where Ingrid stood before a massive assortment of root vegetables, deftly peeling as she called orders and questions to those bustling around the kitchens.

“Tell me you brought everything,” she said to the tuber in her hands, and the porter slid his list onto the counter.

“All plus some extras,” the man said. “Had a bit of help.”

Ingrid looked up at that, noticing Loki for the first time. “And what are _you_ doing here, boy? All finished terrorizing the nobility, so you’ve chosen me as your next victim?” She glanced over at the porter. “My thanks. Off you go; we’ll send for you if we need anything additional.” Her face was a little flustered as she looked around the warm, busy space. “Don’t go far.”

With a nod, the man stepped away; Ingrid watched him go for a moment before turning back to the prince. There was an exasperated sort of fondness in her face. “What can I do for you, my lord? Two of my best are with the healers; another’s due to drop a set of twins at any second, and this feast won’t make itself. I’ve little time for games today.”

“I came to see if you had any of those sweet rolls from breakfast left over,” Loki answered as he dropped onto the stool across from her. He reached up to retrieve a small knife from the rack above the heavy counter, then pulled the nearest bowl of vegetables toward himself. Rapidly peeling the first in precise, sharp movements, he added it to the smaller pile next to Ingrid and took another as he continued. “I also wanted to request a change to the menu, if there’s time for an adjustment.”

The head cook stared at him openly, her paring knife all but falling from her fingers as she watched him drop the second tuber on the pile and reach for another. She recovered after only a moment. “This from the man who once asked for a course change five minutes after said course had been served?”

“The very same.” A faint blush touched his cheeks as he skimmed his knife across the vegetable in his hands, leaving a neat pile of scraps beneath. “It’s a favor, actually.”

Ingrid studied him briefly, her face canny as she picked up her own knife and settled back. “All right, then. Let’s hear it.”

“Once upon a time,” Loki began, focusing on the work in his hands instead of Ingrid, “there was a girl. She had a brother.” He caught himself, nearly nicking his own finger. “ _Has_ a brother. He’s just… not here anymore.”

An understanding nod from the cook. “In Valhalla. I see.”

“ _Gods,_ no,” he laughed. “He’d be bored gutless within an hour. I prefer to think of him as having crossed over to another universe, one where he can continue rescuing orphans and taking in strays and blowing things up without a hint of restraint. It’s what he did best.” He swallowed against a tiny lump in his throat, taking yet another vegetable and beginning to peel it. “But I digress. I’d like to serve something at the feast that will remind her of him. Something only he would have done for her, something he promised to do. We wouldn’t need to make many; just enough for the high table if you think it will be too much work. Or we could perhaps switch something out.”

“We.” There was something in her voice, and he looked up, surprised.

“Well of course, we. I’d help you.” He stopped at her expression, feeling suddenly abashed. “I mean, if you’d allow me to.”

“Tell me what I’m making.”

Loki did so, explaining as succinctly as he could.

“Quiche,” she said, rolling the word on her tongue. “Rather a silly word for an egg pie, isn’t it?”

“It’s French,” Loki replied as though it made a difference to the cook.

“Tiny quiches.” She grinned as she said the word again. “I like it more every time I say it, but I need a very good reason as to why I’m going to be serving what amounts to peasant food at the high table.”

“Coulson and the lady Aeslin determined long ago that a party wasn’t a party until the tiny quiches showed up. It was something they joked about for years, to the point that they would show up on each other’s doorsteps in the early hours of the morning with nothing but a pack of cards and a box of quiches. It was sort of… their bastion of normalcy against the strangeness they saw every day. He even promised to have them for her the day she wed.” He felt Ingrid’s eyes on him, but he continued peeling vegetables as though his life depended on it. “She’s doing her best, but this will be her first feast. I mean, they’re an adjustment for anyone, but I just… I want her to feel welcome at the party.” He looked up at Ingrid at last, a faint smile on his face.

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” he continued, “but there’s really not much to them once you get the hang of it.” He let the grin widen. “If it makes you feel any better, I happen to know that my mother _also_ adores them.”

Ingrid glanced over Loki’s shoulder, voice raised out of long habit. “I don’t know where you’re from, boy, but around here, floors don’t sweep themselves. Get to work or be gone.” Loki looked back to see a young boy watching him curiously, and he smiled at the child before turning back to Ingrid.

“You’ve convinced me, my lord. I’ll do them, on two conditions.”

“Name them,” came Loki’s immediate answer as he shifted the now-empty bowl of vegetables and pulled another to his side of the counter.

“One. You help me with them, as you’ve said you will. Come when I call, work ‘til we’re done. Otherwise the deal’s off.”

“Agreed. And the second?”

She shook her head with a small laugh. “Tell me what you did with the other prince. You know the one. Rather a pest? Looked a lot like you, disappeared a few years ago. Want to tell me what happened to him?”

Loki grinned as he began to work once more. “Oh,” he said, pulling a slight face, “him? No clue, I’m afraid.”

***

_He cannot stay long under the watchful eye of his head of kitchens, but he finds himself either unable or unwilling to leave. Instead, Odin pulls back a little, light reflecting around him. He is still there, but at the same time, he is not. Those that scurry back and forth avoid the spot where he stands without realizing what they are doing, bending around him to chatter and call to each other as they work. He barely notices them; his eyes are on the boy and the cook, who sit across from each other and laugh like old friends as they chop vegetables for the massive pots on the other end of the room. After some time, a woman bent with age comes up to their workspace, setting a plate of pastries near Loki’s elbow. The boy’s face lights up, and he sets down his knife long enough to wrap lean arms around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her soft, wrinkled cheek. The woman all but giggles as she slaps at him, and the blush is still visible on her face when she weaves past Odin on her way back to her duties. She narrowly misses treading on his toes, caught as he is in studying the boy._

_The_ boy _. The one that Odin faintly remembers. The one that used to crawl into the massive chair of his study, climbing shelves for books far out of reach. The one who brought him wildly colored stones and begged to know how they were made. The boy with the same smile he sees now._

My son is dead, _he thinks, but now he wonders when it truly happened._

***

Streaks of sunlight lay across the courtyard as Parker crossed the market square. The pack he’d borrowed from Thor thumped against his hip as he worked his way through the merchants setting up in anticipation for the day’s festivities. Feast preparations were well underway, and the excitement was palpable. There hadn’t been a true celebration in far too long, from what Parker had gathered in talking to those in the market in previous days. He nodded to a few people that he recognized but remained focused on his destination.

Luck was with him, and Ragnbjorg was at her post. The woman studied him as he approached; looking curiously at the backpack when he put it on the table.

“Less than two days for all of those?” she asked. “You’re going to make Longshanks look positively slow.”

The smile on Parker’s face didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Do you have a minute?”

She glanced around the completely empty entrance hall, then looked back at him with a single raised eyebrow.

“Right,” the young man replied, dragging a chair over and sitting across from her. “I need some help.” He indicated the books spilling out of the pack. “They’re the same.”

“They’re all basic histories,” came the reply. “There are bound to be similarities between the books; many contemporary historians shared notes.”

Parker was already shaking his head. “No. You don’t understand. They’re the _same_. Some of them are almost word for word. It’s like they just switched an important name here, or a realm there, but they’re nearly identical, and almost _none_ of them come close to the notes I made from the books Loki gave me.”

Ragnbjorg’s voice was calm and curious. “So you just want to return them? You didn’t need to talk to me about that. I’m sure you know the procedure by now.”

“That’s not what I want,” Parker said, scrubbing a hand wearily through his hair. “Look,” he sighed. “I’m at a disadvantage. Odin’s put me on a council that’s supposed to be a council of war, except there’s not actually a war happening so there’s just a lot of people talking about inventorying grain and supplies and sharing pictures of their grandkids. They talk about things that are common knowledge. Everyday things, you know? Things that it’s just assumed that I know, except I _don’t_. I know a little of this, and a little of that, but we’re still a pretty young race compared to everyone else, and we were cut off a long time ago.” He felt his voice rising a little; his patience was far shorter than normal due to a lack of sleep. “I want to be able to speak up. I want to be able to know what I’m talking about, but what I’m being given isn’t the whole truth.”

He took her silence as permission to continue. “I know that history is written by the victors. That things can be switched around, or spun a certain way, or that inconvenient bits of history can just… disappear. I mean, if you want to know how it happens, all you have to do is give Aeslin half a hard lemonade, wait ten minutes and then ask her about Wales.” A faint grin. “You’re going to want to set aside a pretty large chunk of time for that, by the way. The point is, if I’m going to be on a council of war, I _really_ need to know what side I’m actually on.”

“Again. Why ask me?”

“You’re a librarian,” he answered simply. “Head librarian. You deal in stories. In truth, whether it’s glamorous or not. You know all the books and all the history and if you don’t know it, you know where to find it. It’s your library.”

The woman gave a gentle laugh. “Truth is dangerous, Parker of Midgard, and nowhere more so than in this place. This place is not mine; I am only the keeper. The library belongs to the All-Father, as does everything within it. I cannot help you.”

Parker’s face fell. He had known it might be a long shot, but his growing frustration with his place (or lack thereof) in Odin’s council chamber had become stronger by the day. It had largely been mitigated by his visits to the arena with Fandral to watch Aeslin and Thor sparring, or by spending time planning for the wedding and his part in it, but it had come to a head the night before. He had been slogging through a history and had found a strange sense of familiarity. Thinking that he had only read the same paragraph and that his mind was playing tricks, he had gone back to the previous book. Then the one before that. After a night making notes that involved entirely too much of Asgard’s laughable version of coffee, he’d decided to take the chance.

He bit the inside of his lip to keep from saying what he actually wanted. Ragnbjorg was sympathetic; Parker was sure of that, but he was still a visitor. An _ókunnugir_. There wasn’t much he could do, and he didn’t want to upset what he felt to be his already tenuous position. Much as Thor and Fandral could do, Parker was in Asgard on Loki’s recognizance, which, as far as the All-Father was concerned, wasn’t exactly solid ground.  

He merely nodded in resignation as he stacked his books on the table, keeping the largest one. It had seemed to be the most useful of the bunch, and if nothing else, he could use it as a booster in the slightly-too-large seat to which Odin had assigned him in councils.

“I am sorry,” Ragnbjorg said as she watched him. “Truly.”

“It’s all right,” replied Parker as he hefted the lightened pack onto his shoulder and stood. “I understand. Thanks for listening, though.”

She seemed surprised that he was leaving. “You’re not planning to go into the archives today?”

“No,” he answered without rancor. “Not really in the mood.” A slight grin crept across his lips. “Besides, I’ve got somewhere to be, and I can’t be late.”

***

_He only needs to ask Thor a question. A trivial thing, one that can be put off until the morning, or one that can be asked through a servant, but his bones are old and tired. He needs the cool air that only comes after sunset, the soothing calm that moonlight can bring. It is what he tells himself as he wanders through the edges of the palace, avoiding sleep as he does so often of late._

_It is Fandral’s voice that he hears first, but where the warrior is, Thor and his friends will not be far behind. He thinks that perhaps he will give the message to the swordsman and be on his way, but the moment he turns a corner, he sees that Fandral already has company. Thor, yes. The Midgardian boy, Parker, strolls on his other side, and with them are Loki and his lover._ Beloved _, comes Frigga’s voice._ There’s a bit of a difference. _Caught off guard, he pulls shadow and light without thinking. He would laugh at himself, if he realized, but in the moment, he does not feel the need to deal with them. To deal with Loki, in particular. Their conversation still rings loudly in Odin’s mind, and it is not something he wishes to repeat any time soon._

_They have reached the outer ring of the city before Odin even realizes he has been following them. They madden him, these children. There is no rhyme or reason to them, but he cannot help but study them. There is something he is missing. There is something that the All-Mother sees, and the Women saw, that he cannot, and it troubles him. It teases and nibbles at him mercilessly, tied as it is with the dream that still comes with alarming frequency. He cannot afford blindness._

_The tavern is less raucous than most, off the beaten path, and one that he knows his son frequents because they neither announce nor ignore his presence. He is merely Thor, who tells tales and plays games and buys ale and food for everyone in the place without so much as blinking. He often visits with the Warriors Three, but those besides Fandral are absent. No wonder, with the Trickster and his lady in attendance. There has always been little love lost between Loki and Thor’s companions, and now there is even less. Except the swordsman._

_The proprietor greets them, leading them to a fairly quiet corner of the tavern. Greetings are shouted at the new guests, and they are returned in equal fervor as the patrons welcome their princes home. They stay far past midnight; drink and laughter flow freely as they trade stories, songs, barbs and games with their fellow patrons. Odin barely notices. His eyes are on Loki._

_He remembers a girl then; it is a memory long hidden. Flame haired, haughty, proud, fit for a prince. The boy had been besotted with her, all but falling over himself in his eagerness to please her. To show his love and devotion to her with every breath, every action. The woman sitting at Loki’s right hand could be no different from the other - Sigyn, was it? - but the way Loki looks at her and acts toward her is like nothing Odin has ever seen from the boy. It puts his previous behavior to shame, but in a way so subtle, so powerful that the All-Father is taken aback. There is love in his face when he looks at her. Open. Unashamed. He does not conceal it, even from the strangers around him, but that is not all. There is loyalty. Devotion. A fierce pride, both in her and of her that Odin has never before seen._

_The woman can take care of herself, of that there is no question. Her performances during training with Frigga and later with Thor have proven her abilities. Loki does not shy away from speaking highly of her when those around them ask of her history and powers. She does not need him any more than he needs her, but there is a protectiveness about him that is so finely-drawn Odin almost does not recognize it at first. It is in the way he has placed himself between her and the door, between her and most of the other patrons. It is the way in which he touches her when she seems the least bit troubled by the noisy crowd around them, a soothing brush to the back of the neck or to her hand, barely noticeable to one who is not watching for it. The flickers of_ seidr _that pass over every drink he hands her. Every platter of food brought to the table. A simple spell, little more than a cantrip to test for poison or even malicious intent. It is lost within the chaos of the room around them, but to Odin, who has cast it himself immeasurable times, it is an easy one to spot._

 _The boy is in love. He_ loves _, the All-Father corrects himself, admitting belatedly that they are not the same. It is a strange thing to watch; he feels almost as though he is intruding, but he cannot look away. He cannot tear his gaze from the boy’s smile, the open, joyous one that he has always reserved for those closest to him, and one that Odin realizes he has not seen in a very,_ very _long time._

My son is dead, _he thinks, but now he wonders how it truly happened._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: ókunnugir: outsider
> 
> Feedback appreciated! Love to you all, and that you for sticking around! <3 You're the best.


	29. Chapter 29

The sun broke over the distant mountains as Loki made his way through the still-quiet halls of the palace; it bathed the corridors leading to his rooms in warm, golden light. He pushed open his door silently, depositing his burden on a table in the antechamber and gratefully toeing off his boots. His jacket was next; he draped it over a chair as he headed further in.

The bedroom was dim; through trial, error, and a little bit of _seidr_ , they’d managed a happy medium where there was enough light for him and enough darkness for her. Loki stood for a moment and allowed his eyes to adjust as he shrugged off his shirt and pants, then padded over to the bed. Aeslin was curled near the center in a nest of sheets and pillows. He moved the ones arranged at her back as rapidly as possible; as soon as there was enough room, he slid deftly into their place. She made a drowsy, contented sort of noise as she snuggled back against his chest. He pressed a kiss to her hair and rested one hand on her hip.

“There you are,” she said, voice still a little blurry with sleep. “I was worried you'd gotten cold feet.”

Loki chuckled softly as he hugged her still closer, sliding his hand around her waist and beneath her tunic. ( _His_ tunic, dove-grey and deliriously soft with age. It was one of his favorites, but he’d gladly ceded custody the moment she’d worn it for the first time.) “Quite the opposite, actually,” he replied, stroking a thumb just below her ribs. “I was too excited to sleep. I’d already woken you once, so I thought I’d let you rest while I pestered the staff instead.”

“That’s decent of you,” she observed as she shifted to her back, a soft, silken noise in the gradually lightening room. “I’m sure they were very appreciative.”

Loki propped his head up on one hand as he gave her a small, mournful smile. “Sadly, we’ll never know.” He hummed as he gave into temptation and brushed his lips across her exposed collarbone and onto her shoulder. “Ingrid managed to intercept me before I even got properly started. Threatened to set me to work in the kitchens before trying to buy me off with breakfast. We were able to come to an agreement, and I brought back enough to share, if you’re interested.” There had been no actual threat: a deal was a deal, and once he and Ingrid had figured out a system, the work had gone quickly. A faint, familiar twinge flicked through the muscles of his shoulders, but it was no worse than those brought on by nightmare-fueled baking sessions. A hot bath or a sparring session would work out any residual aches, and he and his co-conspirator had agreed that the results were more than worth the trouble.

She hummed noncommittally as she burrowed further into the covers, clearly unwilling to give up her nest. “Will it keep?”

“There’s no rush,” he confirmed. “I popped it with a bit of _seidr_ to keep things from cooling off too fast, but it’s mostly fruit and pastries.”

A sleepy laugh. “Now there’s a woman who knows her audience.”

“She had your number long before she knew your name, love. It’s her gift. A bowl of soup before you even know you’re cold, bread to go with it because you seem the type, and if you’re very _very_ polite, she _may_ even read your fortune in the foam on your ale, which is _far_ more difficult than you’d think.”  

“She’s a witch?”

“Of course,” Loki answered, a little surprised. “All the best cooks are.”

Aeslin studied him thoughtfully. “That... actually explains a lot about you, too,” she said after a moment. “I mean, you _now_ . Not Flaming Pancakes you, which I’m sure she would _love_ to hear about.”

“And to which,” came his stern reply, “she will _never_ be privy. I paid for your silence, little minx, just like I did after that nonsense with the washing machine.” He sighed dramatically, rolling just enough to conveniently pin her to the mattress. He raised an eyebrow as he pushed up, hands braced on either side of her head. “Or must we negotiate a _new_ price? How much more will you ask of me, woman? Must my dignity suffer _further_?”  

Aeslin made a show of considering, running her fingers up and down his forearms thoughtfully. “Well, when you put it that way… I suppose not. It _does_ seem rather uncharitable.”

“Damn. And here I was, fully prepared to throw myself at your mercy.”

“My mercy, hmm?”

“Among other things.” He grinned as closed the distance between them, drawing her into a slow, sweet kiss. “But alas, once again you’ve chosen the higher path. A pox on you and your moral compass anyway; now we’ll _both_ have to suffer.”

“Alas,” she echoed, wrapping a leg around his hips as she returned the kiss. She pulled away far too soon. “We probably shouldn’t tempt fate, though. I mean, isn’t it bad luck for you to even see me today?”

Loki snorted indelicately. “Because that worked out _so_ well last time.” He nuzzled the soft spot along her jaw. “All apologies to Captain Rogers, sweetling, but I’m not letting you out of my sight for the rest of the day unless it’s absolutely necessary. We’ll be joined at the very hip until I turn you over to Forseti later today, which I will do with _great_ reluctance and only because I know it’s for a good cause.”

“Just ‘good’, hmm? I see how it is.”

“Of course,” he grinned. “We Asgardians are _masters_ of understatement, you know.”

She rolled her eyes as she pushed upward, and their positions were switched in half a breath. Straddling his stomach, she looked down at him with a smirk. “Oh, absolutely. That’s the first thing I noticed about you. Second. Maybe a hard third. ‘Such understated elegance and sentiment’, I thought, as I walked straight into a solid gold pillar because I couldn’t see through the glare of the sun off the diamond walkways.”  

“Glorious, aren’t they? That much subtlety also makes for fan _tas_ tic distraction from troublesome things like emotions and rational discussion. Besides, we’ve got a reputation to uphold. I’m obligated, even on a day like today, to smother any _real_ feelings on the matter, _plus_ I have to save my energy for all the uncontrolled sobbing I’ll have to deal with when Forseti returns you.”

She idly traced her fingers along his stomach, eyebrow raised. “Sobbing, you say.”

He tried desperately to keep his concentration intact amid the goosebumps rising on his skin. “Oh yes. Parker’s going to be an absolute _wreck_ when he sees you. Remind me to pack extra towels; I think handkerchiefs just aren’t going to cut it.”

“Parker.” Her lip twitched. “Of course. That’s very noble of you, thinking of others on a day that belongs to you.” Driven nearly to the edge, Loki finally intercepted her hands with his own; she gave him a knowing smile as she balanced herself on his palms out of long habit. “Happy birthday, by the way,” she said.

A gentle laugh. “Thank you, though for what it’s worth, I much prefer the one you and Tony gave me. A day to stand on its own, not shoved in as an afterthought to an already existing festival that largely revolves around my brother. As most things did. Add in the end of the Jotunheim campaign, and well…” his shrug jostled her hands a little, “things got a little busy. We had to prioritize.”

“Thor’s festival?”

“To be fair, Alfheim is _really_ the place to be on Mabon; it’s Freyr’s sphere, after all. It’s a shame the Bifrost is closed. Thor is a god of storms, thunder, and fertility, so he runs a close second and is nominally head of the festivities on Asgard.” He held up their twined hands, lifting a few fingers as he counted off. “So. The harvest. The end of the campaign against the Jotun, which if I have _my_ guess will be discreetly shoved under the nearest rug and ignored this year because even Odin knows better on occasion. The celebration of what is almost certainly _not_ my actual birthday, in that order.”

“And now us.”

Loki’s smile widened. “And now us.”

“So what kind of party does Thor throw?”

“Rather what you’d expect, but not in a bad way. Feasts for all, regardless of station. You’ve seen the marketplace already; that will stay for at least another week. Wandering musicians, entertainers, artists, firedancers, that sort of thing. He also throws open the sparring grounds. Everyone steps into the circle as equals; it’s a way to start fresh during a time of change. Fight things out. Bury grudges, then get patched up at the healing tents. Head toward the taverns, drink yourself silly and get started on _next_ year’s grudges.”

She laughed. “Sounds delightful.”

“I could tell you that it’s completely ridiculous and that I never participated because I was _so_ far above such nonsense, but it would be an absolute lie. I _love_ Mabon, mostly be _cause_ it’s ridiculous and unapologetic and so very _Thor_. It’s the one day where nothing matters, and that means everything matters.”

“You know,” Aeslin observed, lacing their fingers together again, “you and I haven’t had a meeting since we got here.”

His lip quirked at the euphemism they’d coined at the Warehouse and carried all the way to London. _I need to hit something._ “We have not,” he replied.

“And we’ve _never_ sparred fully powered,” she continued, voice thoughtful.

“We have _not_ ,” he repeated; this time, his answer was hushed as the possibilities struck him in a wave.

“Seems like a great way to burn off some nervous energy.”

“It does indeed,” Loki grinned. He dropped his hands to her hips, letting them linger there for a moment. “Up you go then, love. This morning just got a _whole_ lot more interesting.”

***

Parker dodged through the marketplace, once more cursing his luck at getting stranded on a planet full of Vikings. He gave in after only a moment, hopping up on a bench next to a young family just long enough to see over the crowd; a gleam of blond hair and a familiar red cloak caught his eye. He marked the spot as best he could before jumping down and making a beeline in what he hoped was Thor’s direction.

He managed to intercept them near a jeweler’s booth; Thor was cheerfully bantering with the woman while he perused beads and delicate silver spirals. Parker skidded to a halt next to him, startling Sif and nearly making Volstagg spill his drink. He ignored them both.

“They’re going,” he blurted out to Thor, nearly wincing at how out of breath he sounded. He needed to start running again; all he needed was the go-ahead from Eir, which wasn’t coming quickly enough. He shoved the thought aside as Thor looked at him curiously. “They’re _going_ ,” he repeated.

Thor shook his head, his voice patient and deliberately vague. “It’s not even midday. They’re not going yet.” He flicked his eyes to the others, and Parker understood after a moment.

“No,” he managed. “Not _going_ going.” Still struggling for air, he thumped his fists together. “Going... going at it going. Fight grounds going. Going fully charged smackdown going and holy _hell_ , when did I start talking like Bruce and _why_ hasn’t anyone _said_ anything going?”

Realization dawned, and Thor grinned at the vendor. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “this is something I’d rather not miss. Hold onto those two, though. I’ll be back for them.” With that, he turned, making his way rapidly toward the sparring grounds. Parker jogged to keep up, and the crowd parted in front of them as Sif and the Warriors fell into step behind. “And it was a while ago,” Thor admitted, picking up the thread of the conversation. “It mostly shows up when you’re drunk, but we all assumed you knew, or were doing it on purpose. That’s why no one mentioned it.”

Parker sighed, and Thor patted his shoulder gently. “It could be worse,” he said soothingly.

“How?” Parker asked, having to speak over the growing noise of the crowd gathered near the main arena.

A shrug. “You could be drunk Steve.” He tossed Parker a grin, to which he received a snort in response. There was a distant, familiar thump and an answering cheer, and Thor peeked over those standing nearby. “Damn. They’ve already started.” A quick glance at the tiered seats above them, and then he gestured toward the center of the lower level. “We’ll have the best view from there. Up for a climb?”

“For this? Hell, yes, I am.”

The five of them managed to squeeze onto one of the stone benches with minimal damage to bystanders, and Parker found himself between Thor and Fandral. He and the swordsman had gone to quite a few of Aeslin’s training sessions, so it was with an easy camaraderie that Parker held out the bag of twisted, dried fruit strips that were the closest thing to Red Vines he’d been able to find at the palace market. Fandral took one gladly, and on his other side, Sif glanced over. Parker extended the package a little further, wiggling it invitingly, and after a tense sort of moment, she nodded, took one and settled back.

The protective shield was up; Parker could tell by the flickers that scattered into the warm air when Aeslin was thrown unceremoniously against one of the pylons surrounding the ring. There was a collective gasp around them as she face-planted into the sand; she stayed down only long enough to gracefully flip off her betrothed before pushing herself up. He felt more than heard Thor laugh beside him.

“Are we sure they’re still going to go through with it after all this?”

“Psh.” Parker went for another vine. “They’re just working out some jitters.” He winced as Aeslin dove beneath a thrown spell and hit Loki square in the chest with an audible thud, sending them both to the ground in a tangle of dust and limbs. “...and maybe some other things.”

The two in the circle came to their feet, stepping back for a moment to breathe and assess. Loki moved first, flinging a blade of magic toward her face; she twisted away, and in the second her back was turned, he shifted impossibly, crossing the sand toward her in a fraction of time. A second shadow rose from the ground, forming into his familiar figure and trapping her between them. She wavered for a split-second, eyes narrowed in what might have been pain or nausea, and then she ignored _both_ Lokis as she drew magic to her hands. Glittering darts sped from her outstretched fingers like ink through water as she spun to her right; both simulacra shattered as her magic found its target in a seemingly empty spot. Loki flickered into view, mere feet away from her until he was shoved backward, slamming into the wall. He rebounded almost immediately, but she was already out of reach, wisps of magic twisting merrily around her. Next to Parker, Fandral let out a low, thoughtful curse.

“Not possible,” he said. “Not even _Odin_ can see through them. We’ve proved it. _Proved_ it, dammit.” He tilted his head toward Parker, not taking his eyes off the evolving battle below. “And she didn’t even spare them a second glance. She knew _exactly_ where he was. What sorcery is this?”

“Not sorcery. Genetic mutation brought on by in-utero exposure to low level gamma radiation.”

Fandral did look at him then, confusion on his face, and Parker shrugged. “Dark matter. Energy. Not sure how or why, but she’s been able to see through his illusions since day one. It’s part of how they met, apparently. I thought it might have gone away when she changed, but I guess not.”

A laugh as Fandral resumed watching the fight, one clearly born from centuries of dealing with Loki and his tricks. “I’ll wager he’s wishing it had right about now.”

“Agreed,” Parker replied. He watched as the combatants sparred, movements so rapid he was having a hard time following them. A shift of weight; Loki made a grab for Aeslin, and she allowed it, kicking his legs out from under him as he did so. Sif let out a scoff as she reached across Fandral for another vine from the bag.

“Norns,” she observed, “she even _fights_ like him.”

Parker blinked, perplexed. “No, she doesn’t. She fights like Phil.” At Sif’s look, he explained as best he could. “I mean, maybe she does, or at least it looks that way, but Loki didn’t teach her to fight. _Phil_ did. I’ve seen video, and it’s absolutely uncanny. _Creepy_ uncanny. Loki may have put on a few finishing touches, but that there is one _hundred_ percent Coulson.” A wince as Loki hit the ground again. “That was, too.”

“Phil. Coulson.” The name sounded strange on the warrior’s lips. “Who is this?”

“Her brother.”

“Another witch?”

He shook his head with a grin, a good idea of how Coulson would respond to _that_ popping immediately into his head. “A mortal. Like me, only way cooler. You might have run into him in New Mexico.”

“Hard to tell. You're all the same to me.” A casual shrug, but Sif’s face was thoughtful as she studied Loki and Aeslin; Parker did as well. He was familiar with their sparring sessions, though he’d only seen a couple in person, and never when both had powers. They flowed like water, sudden and beautiful and vicious as a summer flood.

“Whether I agree with his methods or not,” Sif finally said, “it is no secret that there are few in these Realms who can stand against the Trickster for any length of time. That she can do so for as long as she has is… telling. It speaks highly of her teacher. I would like to meet your Son of Coul, I think.”

A faint hiccup somewhere deep in Parker’s chest. “Sorry,” he managed. “You’re a couple of years too late.”

He felt her eyes on him, piercing as a hawk. Fandral’s, too, but he kept his eyes on the arena below as though he were too engrossed to notice.

“He died as he lived, then.” Her tone was softer than he’d ever heard it, and he didn’t know whether to be angry or grateful for it. “A great loss.”

Parker let out a small breath, tilting the bag to her again with a weak sort of smile.

“You have no idea.”

***

The bout lasted far longer than either had initially planned. In the end, they agreed to call it a draw, though she had clearly won the crowd’s favor. They left the ring together, giddy with adrenaline and stumbling from exhaustion. Grabbing her hand, he tugged her toward the nearest healing tent. Eir looked up from her book and sighed at the sight of them, covered in dirt, scrapes and bruises and giggling like children.

“ _You_ again,” she said sternly, unable to hide the ghost of a smile that teased across her face. “Thought I’d seen the last of you for a while. It would seem I was mistaken.” She shut her book with a little more force than was necessary and stood with her usual grace. “Who’s first, even though I _should_ make my favorite royal disaster heal himself for once?”

“Can’t,” Loki replied merrily as he hopped up onto the raised table. “I mean I _could_ , but we’d be here for hours. She broke my hand, and _gods_ , Eir, you should have _seen_ it. Took me completely off guard. It was beautiful. Hypnotic. _Glorious_.”

Eir glanced over to Aeslin, who gave her a sheepish grin. “I would shrug,” she said, “but I’m pretty sure my collarbone’s cracked. I’m trying not to make it worse.”

A scoff as Eir turned back to Loki, but her words were aimed at the other woman. “At least tell me that Frigga’s lifted her ban on treating you with _seidr_.”

“Gone,” Aeslin confirmed.

“And about time, too.” Eir lifted Loki’s fingers, moving each in turn as her eyes gleamed with healer’s Sight. “Goodness, you don’t do anything halfway, do you?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Loki said.

“I meant _her._ ”

“I just believe in giving as good as I get, that’s all,” came Aeslin’s completely unrepentant reply. “Especially when it comes to tangling with the god of mischief, and I’d even go so far as to say that the crowd agreed with me.”

Loki snickered. “And none louder than Thor and his friends. You made more than a few allies today, that’s for certain. The people are going to _love_ you for this.”

“Just representing my realm in a good light. The fact that I handed you your ass is just icing on the cake.”

“Didn’t.”

“Did.”

“Hush, woman.”

“ _Make_ me.”

Eir cleared her throat, and the two fell silent, matching smirks on their faces. “Can I finish putting his lordship back together, or would you two like a moment alone?”

“Plenty of time for that later,” Loki said with a wicked grin, “and I’ll need _both_ hands available for that, thank you.”

“Then be so kind as to let me work in peace, or you may end up with more fingers than you need.”

Loki quieted, giving Aeslin a wink over the healer’s shoulder, and she shook her head at him, a smile in eyes made brighter by the dirt smeared on her cheeks.

Eir finished working on Loki and had barely begun with Aeslin when there was a rustle of movement outside of the tent. A second later, Forseti strode in.

“ _There_ you are,” he said to Aeslin, relief and a hint of irritation in his voice. “Are you _trying_ to make my life difficult?”

“Not on purpose, but my track record isn’t great, so I’m going to go with probably? Subconsciously at the very least. It’s a problem.”

Forseti rolled his eyes and looked at the healer. “What’s the damage?”

“That one’s done, as far as I’m concerned,” she replied, tilting her chin to indicate Loki. “If he wants anything else, he’ll have to do it himself. This one’s got more than a few cracks to mend, but it shouldn’t take long provided she holds still.”

The tailor glanced over to where Loki sat in front of a mirror, feeding _seidr_ gently into a deep scrape on his cheekbone. He grinned when he felt Forseti’s eyes on him; the smile was a little lopsided due to a split lower lip. “Yes,” he replied to the unspoken question. “I’m _quite_ proud of myself. Prouder of her, but that goes without saying. Is it time, then?”

“Time and nearly past,” Forseti answered. “Your brother’s all but stamped a new river in his impatience, and Lord Parker is right on his heels.”

“Let’s not keep them waiting. We’ll hold them off at least until Eir has done her work.” He pushed back from the small table, bowing gracefully to the healer as he did so. “My thanks, Lady Eir. Once again you’ve put me together; I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such care.”

“Very little,” she retorted, but there was fondness in her tone. “Be off with you. Say hello to your brother for me, and thank Parker again for the flowers, if you would.”

“Of course. See you in a moment, love.” With a nod to Aeslin, Loki gestured for Forseti to precede him out of the pavillion.

He was met with two concerned faces; Parker glanced past him to the closed tent flap. Loki gave him a reassuring smile. “She’s fine. Eir’s just finishing up. Nothing to worry about, I promise.”

A light, self-conscious laugh. “Can you blame me?”

“Not a bit.”

The four men waited in relative silence for a moment, nodding and smiling at those who passed by. More than a few commented on Loki’s performance in the sparring ring, and he took each with a pleasant grin or an appropriate comment. It was odd, seeing the people again this way. Nothing had changed for them except that now the prince had a companion worth his salt, and he lost count of the nudges and winks sent his way.

It seemed ages later when Aeslin reappeared, faint wisps of magic still clinging to her body. Most of it was concentrated along her collarbone and a couple of ribs, with some to spare for the bruises threatening to blossom along her back. He’d spend a bit more time on those when the opportunity presented itself, but for now, it was enough. It had to be; Thor had practically chewed off the tip of his thumb in his impatience. Loki would need to look after _that_ , as well.

Loki took Aeslin’s hand. “Ready?”

“Yes.” She smiled at Forseti. “Thank you for being patient.”

An answering grin. “Lots of practice,” the tailor replied. “I knew the princes first, after all. Shall we?”

Loki found himself suddenly reluctant to let go of her hand; she seemed to understand, and she squeezed his fingers tightly.

“Not the same,” she told him softly. “I swear. I’ll see you soon.”

He wanted to hate himself for the word that slipped out, but he couldn’t help it. “Promise?”

She brought his hand to her lips, brushing them gently along his knuckles. “Promise.”

Loki released a breath, then her hand. She gave him that small, luminous smile before taking Forseti’s arm for the walk to the palace.  After watching her for a moment, Loki smacked his brother none-too-gently on the stomach and grinned at Parker, then led the way from the training grounds.

***

_She perches on a stool before the simple vanity that’s been set up in the Queen’s solarium, doing her best to keep her breath even as a young woman works careful fingers through her hair. The handmaiden, hastily borrowed from Frigga less than an hour earlier and sworn to abject secrecy until after the evening’s feast, chatters gently in a clear effort to calm her charge._

_It’s not working._

_“I don’t mean that none of us thought we’d see the day,” she observes, continuing her musings as she pins a spray of tiny white flowers just above the intricately braided chignon at Aeslin’s neck. “We just… didn’t think it would look like this.” She laughs a little, and Aeslin joins her as best she can, nerves fraying. Too long. It is taking too long._

_He’s lived a dozen lifetimes. She will live a hundred more. A million insignificant and not-so-insignificant choices have led them both to this moment, and the fact that they have found each other, waded through fire and death to reach this place only moments before his time is up seems vastly unfair._

_Unfair, yet somehow fitting._

_Her fingers twist in her lap, aching to hold him again and almost scared to do so. Afraid of her place, of what seems to be her calling in these foolish, stupid realms that refuse to let her die. Instead, she watches as those around her go beyond, forever crossing through doors denied to her. The Other called her_ Valkyrie _, as did a few of the news outlets, and they are not wrong. Her job, it seems, is to escort others. To hold their hand, to kiss their forehead, to stand helpless as they go where she cannot follow._

 _Loki is different, though. He always has been, and for good reason. Her sweet, disastrous, brilliant, devoted god of mischief. The one who has forever drifted along the edges, walking without fear into shadows from which others flee. One who thought himself abandoned, cast off. One who built a universe from nothing but ash and smoke and hope and_ thrived _in it. Brought back to Asgard against his will, and now he will die here. They both know it, have both accepted it, and it is one reason that she sits in front of a mirror, being dressed and primped by a woman whose name she can’t quite remember and would likely forget if told again. Loki has spent a life defying his father. She is quickly learning how, as well, and today they will do it again. As she told Thor mere hours before the attack on New York, mere hours after watching her brother bleed his life out onto her hands, Loki no longer belongs to Asgard, if he ever did. He has told her himself, in the deep hours of the night as they whisper of a future they know might not exist. Loki will not die alone, cast adrift by the one he called father. He will not belong to Asgard when that moment comes. He will belong to_ her _._

_His devotion is still so strange to her on occasion, but she no longer questions it as she once did. She no longer questions why he would love one like her, so damaged and mortal. He is her strength, and she is his. He accepts her as few others have, without question and with more than a little pride at her flaws. Their bond grows stronger by the day, and Aeslin knows without question that she loves him. Adores him. Occasionally wants to smack him silly, but most do after spending any appreciable time with one bred of chaos, and he never blames her for it. Instead he does his best to make her smile, to make things right, which he always does eventually._

_A faint grin ghosts across her lips, and, as if in response, the handmaiden gives her hair a final pat. “That’s that,” she says, handing Aeslin a second mirror and turning her around. “Do you like it?”_

_The pale flowers and delicate green and white gems stand out against her dark hair, bringing out the subtle auburn that has begun to show after hours in the Asgardian sun. Her face brightens as she puts down the mirror. “I love it. Thank you.”_

_“You are most welcome. It is a pleasure to serve you; rarely have I had one so patient.”_

_A gentle snort. “Well, you’d be one of the first to describe me that way, but I’m glad to be of service.”_

_The woman laughs as she pulls Aeslin to her feet. “Follow me, then.”_

_Only a few moments later, she is standing on a raised platform in the next room; Forseti is making last minute adjustments to her gown._

_“You’ll have another for the feast,” he is saying as he inspects the fabric around the hem with a critical eye. “More traditional, but still enough to get you noticed. As it should be.” He chuckles, lifting the outermost layer of her skirts and studying the way it flows back into place. “Not that you need much help after this morning; gods below, but I thought you and_ Frigga _were bad.”_

 _“Different,” she admitted. “Plus, Loki and I have been at it a little longer.” She looks down at him, and then at her image in the full-length mirrors set up around her. The dress is nearly identical to the one that Steve designed for the first ceremony; after some thought, she’d opted to have Forseti recreate it, with a few of his own touches. She had wondered if it would resurrect memories of the day on the beach, but seeing herself now, she realizes that it is a comfort to have this reminder of home. It speaks of the days Steve had spent in their flat in London as he’d designed, decompressed, and proved to the others how absolutely_ awful _he was at rolling sushi. The feeling is bittersweet, but she welcomes it. She wants all the reminders of her friends - her family - that she can get._

_She sniffles faintly, which she covers by running her fingers along the incredibly soft skirt; the outermost layers catch the sun like spiders’ webs, gossamer-light. “Won’t this be ruined when I get it wet?” she asks as Forseti stands. They are eye to eye as long as she is on her pedestal, and he gives her a reassuring smile._

_“Not at all. This fabric is made for days like these. It will draw up water, as it’s meant to, but it also dries quickly. You won’t notice it at all, if I’ve done my job right.”_

_“Which you always do.”_

_A full laugh this time. “Bless you, my child. You truly know the way to this old man’s heart. But it would be a worthy sacrifice, in any case,” he tells her. “I would make a dozen more of these for you, in every color you wanted. You’re radiant, my dear, and that’s not just my bias talking.”_

_Her lip twitches in half a smirk. “Of course not.”_

_The tailor gives her an answering grin as he points over her shoulder. “_ Don’t _believe me, then. Ask him.”_

_Curious, she turns slowly to see Parker standing quietly in the doorway. He gives her a watery smile as their eyes meet, and in his face she sees everything that they’ve come through together. She is so proud of him in that moment, with his scars and carefully styled scruff, his unwavering loyalty and love, and she steps down to meet him as he comes forward. He seems torn, a little unsure, and she holds out her hands to him._

_“It’s all right,” she says, barely trusting her own voice. “I’m pretty much waterproof.”_

_Parker gives a sound that could be a laugh, but is more likely a sob as he drags her into a hug. They hold each other tightly, and at last she feels him relax._

_“I’m not going to jinx it.” His voice cracks a little as he pulls back. “I’m not going to jinx it; I swear, but we made it. We_ made _it. We’re there.” He winces. “Almost. Don't let me jinx it.”_

_She takes his face in her hands. “We made it,” she tells him firmly. “We’re still here. You. Me. Loki. We made it.” A grin spreads across her face. “How do you feel?”_

_He chuckles as he reaches into a pocket of his long, deep blue coat and extracts a large cloth. “Like a hot mess,” he replies, unselfconsciously dabbing at his face. “I'm already on my third hankie, and we haven't even started. I'm relieved. Happy. Mostly a mess, and you’re not making it any easier. Gods, woman. You’re gorgeous. Stunning. Magnificient. Ethereal. I’m already running out of words, but I’m an exobiologist, dammit. Not a poet.”_

_“Could have fooled me.”_

_“Shut up.” Parker shakes his head with a rueful grin. “Besides, this isn’t about me. I’m just the bridesman, remember? Are you ready?”_

_She glances back at Forseti, who is watching them fondly as he gathers his supplies. He gives a nod. “My work is done,” he confirms, “for now. I’ll see you again before tonight’s feast.”_

_“Thank you,” she says, and the words don’t feel like enough. Aeslin is trying to find more when Forseti closes his box with an authoritative click._

_“You are welcome,” comes the reply. “It was my honor.” In a whisper of movement, he is gone. Parker lets out a long, calming breath._

_“So here’s the real question. How do_ you _feel?”_

_Aeslin turns, taking a last look into the mirror. She takes in the dress, the way the deep green of the bodice fades and flows into the white of her skirts. The faint wink of gems in her hair. She smiles at the vision in the glass, and is more than a little surprised when it smiles back._

_“Like a princess,” she finally admits._

_A small, understanding chuckle from Parker as he takes her hand. “I thought that was the idea.”_

_An answering laugh; she bonks Parker with her shoulder. He gently nudges her back, and they walk toward the garden together._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoooookay, so january and february basically handed me my rump on a platter but i'm back and i hope you're all still here too. :D thanks for your patience! i've missed you guys so much!!
> 
> feedcrack appreciated. love to you all!


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have wandered  
> Through the dark  
> Through the dirt  
> I was hurt  
> And in the end I came back to the start
> 
> And I stumbled  
> Lord knows how I stumbled  
> I slipped on myself, no help from anyone else  
> I fell in love and I was humbled
> 
> There she is  
> Isn't she everything?
> 
> Down at the bottom  
> I found the things I'd forgotten  
> Then despite all I've done  
> I can learn  
> I can learn it this time
> 
> There she is  
> Isn't she everything?
> 
> Isn't she everything I need?  
> I needed someone who believed me  
> I needed someone who wouldn't leave me  
> I needed her
> 
> There she is  
> Isn't she everything?
> 
> I will give  
> I will give anything
> 
> Anything she needs

_He cannot hold still. He cannot help it; he was nervous enough on their first attempt, and today bears all the weight of what’s come before. Loki clasps his hands behind his back as he slowly paces along the carved balustrade at the edge of the Queen’s Garden. His fingers gently twist around each other as he goes. They itch to soothe the vicious scar hidden beneath his tunic, the memory still as fresh and cold as the stream that runs merrily past his feet and cascades over the edge of the grounds. He breathes deeply, then lets it out slowly._

_Thor is taking stock of the items arranged on an oak table with intricately carved trestles. It is Loki’s own; he helped Thor drag it from his workshop and set it up, scorch marks and all._ Something old _, Parker had said with a grin when he’d seen it in the full afternoon light._ Battered, scarred, but still useful, and _oh_ so pretty. It fits, don’t you think? _Loki had merely shaken his head with an understanding smirk, then shooed the boy off to his duties as Aeslin’s bridesman._

_“It’s not the same,” Thor says quietly as Loki passes him for the fourth time. He makes an infinitesimal adjustment to the neat line of ribbons and looks at his brother. Falling into step next to Loki, Thor guides them both to the edge and sits down on the railing, wide as a bench in this part of the garden. After a pause, Loki joins him. They sit in silence for a moment._

_“Not the same,” his brother observes again, looking up at the palace that soars overhead, and Loki is unsure for a moment whether Thor is speaking to him or to himself. “I’ve gladly broken a rule that’s been in place since long before Grandfather’s father drew his first breath. Mjolnir stands ready, though I won’t need her.” A faint smile ghosts across his lips. “I wouldn’t get two swings in anyway, not before Mother stepped in and_ thoroughly _chastised any intruders for setting foot in her gardens without leave. You’re healed. You’re whole. Whatever happens, it will be all right. More than all right, I think.”_

 _“I was whole the last time,” Loki replies thoughtfully. “Just… different.” He calls forth a touch of_ seidr _; pale green flame flickers along the edges of his hand. It vanishes in the light, and he dusts his fingers along the soft leather of his trousers out of habit. “I’m still not sure how I feel about having it back sometimes.”_

_“I’m not sorry.”_

_Loki studies his hands. “Nor am I.” A gentle laugh escapes him, though. “I mean, I can think of a_ few _things I might change. Mostly the parts where I get stabbed.” He looks at the table, where Thor has arranged a veritable rainbow of ribbons. “And the part where they’re not here.”_

 _“They’re_ here _, though,” his brother answers. He raises a hand, then seems to think better of it and taps his own chest. He still cannot bring himself to touch Loki’s. The wound is too raw for both of them, and Loki does not begrudge Thor’s reluctance in the least. He can barely stand the sight of it himself, but he hasn’t been able to bring himself to glamour it away. Loki has chosen his own form at last, and he will wear his scars with pride. Just as she has learned to._

_His brother tilts his head to the arrangement on the table. “And they’re there. It took both of us, but Parker and I finally sorted out who had what. He changed his mind at the last second when he found one he liked better in the marketplace. You wouldn’t believe how fast he charmed that merchant into a trade; he’s an absolute natural. One would think he was born for this place.”_

_“I believe it, though your surprise_ does _prove that you’ve never played poker with him. Or Catan.” Loki closes his eyes and lets the sun warm his face. “He’s in the wrong line of work, that one. You call_ me _a chameleon? We’re lucky that boy’s heart is as pure as it is.”_

_“Agreed,” says Thor, leaning back on his elbows and heedless of the drop behind him. His voice becomes thoughtful. “I’m glad he’s here, though. Of all of them, I think he’s earned it.”_

_“Gods,” replies Loki. “You have_ no _idea. He had to live through our so-called ‘nonsense’ at the Warehouse, which apparently took_ decades _off his life, if you ask him. Poor thing. Enough suffering for twelve lifetimes, possibly more if he’s in a mood.”_

_“I suppose we should be glad it hasn’t driven him to a life of evil, then.”_

_A snort. “Can you imagine?”_

_There is a light step on the stone. “Imagine what?” comes a familiar voice._

_Loki’s eyes flick open hopefully, but his mother is alone. She smiles at them both, light shimmering on the opalescent grey of her deceptively simple dress._

_“Parker as a despot.” He comes to his feet, as does Thor._

_“I have,” she responds calmly, “and the idea is absolutely terrifying.” She takes one of their hands in each of hers, then regards Loki with a raised brow. “Really, my son? One of the most important days of your life, and_ this _is what concerns the two of you?”_

_He brushes a kiss to the proffered cheek. “Just a whistle past the graveyard.”_

_Her brow knits as she presents her other cheek to Thor. “A what?”_

_“Trying to convince my worries that they don’t have the best of me, which may or may not be true.”_

_“Ah.” Frigga smiles knowingly as she strokes a thumb across his knuckles. “It will be all right, my dear.”_

_“That does seem to be the general consensus,” Loki admits with a slightly abashed smile, “but can you blame me? A day like this is nerve wracking enough on its own; throw in our history, and I really don’t thin- oh.” His attention is caught by the figure that has just stepped into the small clearing. She walks with poise, one hand in Parker’s and the other gracefully lifting her flowing skirts. Aeslin meets his eyes, and the slow, perfect smile that she reserves just for him breaks across her face. “Oh,” he manages again, feeling his knees weaken just a little at that familiar sight. His mother’s hand tightens around his, but he cannot tear his gaze away from Aeslin long enough to look at her. Instead, Loki hears her laugh gently as she lets go of his fingers and approaches the pair walking toward them. Thor clasps his arm for just a moment before stepping forward as well, but Loki remains pinned like a butterfly._

_After what seems like an eternity, Aeslin stands before him, tendrils of hair trailing delicately in the breeze. Her lip quirks as she studies him, and then she softly reaches up and closes his mouth. He captures her hand in his before she can pull it away again, pressing his lips into her palm for a long moment. Opening his eyes, he looks past her to the three standing on the soft grass next to his workshop table. Frigga lifts her chin to indicate the sun behind him._

_“It’s time,” she says, giving them a mischievous smile. “That is, if you’re still willing.”_

_He laughs at that, wiping at his cheek with a free hand. “Time and past,” he replies in the same tone with a wink to Aeslin. “That is, if the lady will still have me.”_

_“Without hesitation.”_

_“Come, then,” his mother bids, holding out her hands to both of them. She leads the way into the small pool at the head of the stream, water coursing in rills from the fountain behind her. They face her, backs to the sun and bare feet in the cool, clear water. They stand as a hundred generations before them have, on the threshold where sky meets earth and sea meets land. It is a bit of a stretch, perhaps, and Frigga has admitted as much. There is no arguing with the Queen of Marriage, though, and there is no difference to Loki. He would stand knee deep in molten rock without complaint if she asked, so long as he could feel Aeslin’s hand in his and hear his mother’s voice speaking the Words of binding. He follows as best he can, senses overwhelmed and heart pounding in his ears as he answers when required. It is almost a surprise when Parker steps into the water, a long, iridescent ribbon in his hands. It shimmers like sun-drenched fog as he wraps it carefully around both their wrists._

_“Mine first,” he says, tying it in a simple knot and letting the ends flow free. “I wasn’t planning to act for all of us, but if being your friend - your brother - has taught me nothing else, it’s to always have a backup plan.” He smiles fondly as he makes sure that the knot is sturdy. “There are no words,” he goes on. “None that I haven’t already said, anyway. I love you both so much. I mean, if you made me pick, I think we all know who I’d save in a fire, but trust me when I say that it would be one of the most difficult choices of my life. The two of you have become so much more than I could ever have hoped when we first stepped onto that plane. I will always, always be grateful that poor guy broke his foot so that Coulson had to call me, instead. I’ve never been happier to be the runner-up.” He brushed at his face. “I would do it again. All of it. Aliens, sushi nights, Frost Giants, getting rebuilt, throwing Catan so that the God of Chaos can keep his perfect record, the end of the world… I’d do it all again. No hesitation. Thank you for letting me be a part of your story. I love you both.”_

_Loki swallows hard, wanting to say something, but Parker shakes his head fractionally and steps back, allowing his brother to come forward. Thor’s ribbon is the same deep red as his surcoat; he twines it around their arms, making sure that it doesn’t cover Parker’s._

_“I’ve never been much for speeches,” he begins, tying the fabric with a casual grace. “My skill is not in words, but there is much I would say, if you will allow me.” He turns to Aeslin first. “Our road together has only begun, Kindlesdaughter. It was a difficult path at first, yours and mine, with brambles, pitfalls and the gods only know what else lying in wait. Mostly for me.” A faint smile ghosts across his lips at the memories. “Rightly so.” His eyes go to Loki’s. “Our journey has been far longer, but no less difficult. I called you brother, for so you were. So you_ are _. Brother by soul now, if not by blood, but I feel that this link can and will be far stronger than the first. It cannot have been a simple choice for you. I tried as best I could to make it easy for you, but in the end, it was you who made the decision to allow me back in. I will forever be grateful for that second chance. It was one that I did not deserve, but both of you gave it freely. You allowed me time to learn. To try to understand, and for that I am forever in your debt.” He cups his hand behind Loki’s neck in the old, familiar motion, and then he does the same to Aeslin. A quicksilver smile, and then he lets go and steps back._

_Parker comes forward once more; he gives Thor several additional ribbons. His brother stands to the side as Parker takes the first streamer from Thor’s hands. Glimmering lace, delicate and strong as a spider’s web._

_“I won’t pretend to be able to speak for the others. I’m sure they’ll have_ plenty _to say about all this when we see them again, but they’re here, too. As best they can be.” He drapes the lace around their wrists. “From Bruce.”_

_A flash of deep, glittering purple. “From Nat.” Another of silver and black. “From Clint.” A pale, variegated green ribbon that would put any self-respecting opal to shame. “From Steve.” It’s followed by a lapis one, shot through with strands of gold. Parker does his best to hide a smirk. “From Tony, who wanted to be first but lost the arm wrestle fair and square.” Loki and Aeslin grin back as he adds the next one. It’s the soft, cool glow of sunrise. “From Sam.” A cheerful, sparkling pink. “From Pepper.”_

_He reaches for the final one. A dark blue silk ribbon with a subtle white and grey stripe. It looks for all the world like a tie, and in the second before Aeslin draws a small, hitched breath, Loki realizes that is_ exactly _what it is meant to represent. Parker’s voice is reverent as he loops in around their now well-banded arms, anchoring it firmly. “And from Phil, who has more right than all of us put together to be here, and he’d probably include the groom in that.” He trails his hand along the ribbon, letting it drift down with the slow, warm breeze._

 _They lower their hands at last, fingers twined. Loki wriggles his fingers a little, trying to force some sensation back into them as Frigga speaks the final Words; the ribbons around their wrists glow briefly as_ seidr _infuses them. Thor brings the goblet filled with mead, offering it to Aeslin first. She takes a sip, and then it is Loki’s turn. He drinks for the first time as a married man, and there are few things in the realms that will ever taste as sweet._

_Frigga lifts their joined hands once more, pressing them between her palms. “It is done,” she tells them. “You are bound through the ages, my children, separate but forever linked. None shall break these bonds. My blessing on both of you.”_

_A final squeeze; she releases them and nods for them to exit the clear water of the stream. They step onto the soft grass together. He glances at his mother with a questioning look, and she nods her permission. With a small flicker of_ seidr _, he widens the ribbons binding him to Aeslin; they slip them off and place them next to the goblet, still woven together. Turning to his bride (his_ bride _; the very thought makes him a little giddy), he cups Aeslin’s chin._

_“I love you,” she tells him before he can speak, grey-green eyes alight._

_“I love you,” he answers. She pulls him into a kiss, soft and fierce and full of promises. Loki returns it, then breaks it to sweep her up into his arms. Aeslin wraps her arms around his neck; her joyful laughter mingles with that of the other three as he clings to her so tightly he can feel her heartbeat against his._

_He puts her down reluctantly, and only to hug his mother, then his brother, whose embrace is strong enough that he hears leather creak. Parker is next; Loki pries him away from Aeslin just long enough to envelop him for a moment. All five are crying to one degree or another, and for the first time since Odin dropped him on SHIELD’s landing pad, Loki feels completely whole. Perhaps it has been even longer than that, but it almost does not matter. What matter is this moment, with his family within reach and his wife’s hand in his._

_His brother looks at him, pride in his face as he claps Loki on the shoulder. “And now, brother,” Thor says, “we celebrate.”_

_***_

Forseti was there to greet them when they returned together to Frigga’s sunroom. The queen nodded serenely to the tailor, then took Thor’s arm and continued deeper into the palace to prepare herself for the upcoming feast. Regarding the three that remained, Forseti’s face broke into a wide smile, teeth white against his dark skin. He indicated the plaited ribbons that dangled from Aeslin’s free hand.

“Success, then?” he asked, and she returned the grin with a brilliant one of her own.

“Thanks in no small part to you,” Aeslin replied.

He chuckled in response, lifting his shoulders fractionally. “What are friends for? And besides,” he went on, “this is the most fun I’ve had in years. Add that to seeing the Trickster truly happy for the first time in far too long, and I really don’t see it as a chore. It is a privilege. An honor. One shared by a very few.” Forseti’s eyes flicked down to where Loki’s fingers were tightly wrapped around Aeslin’s, the skin around his knuckles visibly paler than the rest of his hand. He looked back up to meet Loki’s eyes, the grin becoming a gentle smirk.

“Don’t suppose you’d be able to let go long enough for me to help her change.”

“I’m honestly not sure,” Loki answered with a bit of an embarrassed laugh. “It was hard enough letting her go this morning. There’s also the fact that I’m not sure I _can_ let go right this minute; I’ve been trying for the last thirty seconds, but my subconscious apparently has other plans. We may need a pry bar.”

Forseti gave Aeslin a slightly beseeching look. “We’ll figure it out,” she soothed with an understanding wink at Loki. “He’s a little overwhelmed, I think, which is completely natural reaction on one’s wedding day. We’ll just have to make sure to give him _very_ simple instructions, that’s all. ‘Hold this. Stand here. Untie that.’ Those sorts of things.”

“I’m _very_ good at unfastening things,” volunteered Loki as he began to regain his emotional footing, “especially when it comes to her.”

Parker rolled his eyes as he and Forseti led the way into the next room. “We figured,” he said dryly. “I mean, I hate to be the one to tell you, but I’m pretty sure _every_ one’s guessed that by now.”

“As I’ve said. Do you want godchildren, or don’t you? Practice makes perfect, after all.”

The easy chatter continued as they got ready for the evening’s festivities. After Aeslin managed to extricate her fingers from between his, she shooed Loki behind the screen. He changed rapidly into the clothes he’d set aside for the feast. He finished buckling the delicately-worked leather tunic as he emerged from behind the screen, leaving his surcoat and boots waiting on the bench. Forseti was headed toward the other divider, arms draped with midnight blue, and Loki smiled. She’d remembered. Of course she had.

He leaned against the wall nearest her changing area. “Everything all right, love?” he asked innocently. “I’m nearly ready, so if you need assistance…” he trailed off as Forseti gave him a stern look.

“I’d love some,” replied the tailor. He handed the dress to Loki. “Hold this,” he said, mimicking Aeslin’s tone, and Loki sighed.

“I see how it is,” he said, hearing Aeslin’s quiet snicker. “You’ve chosen to torment me, and on my very own wedding day. A cruel trick indeed, old man.”

“Or perhaps,” Forseti observed, stepping out just long enough to sweep the dress off Loki’s arms, “I’m under strict orders from the Queen _and_ your esteemed brother to ensure that you make it to the feast on time.” Another poke of his head out, and he took the other swath of fabric with a flourish and a smile. “Alas; you may never know the truth.”

With another dramatic sigh, Loki wandered over to Parker, who was struggling with the buckles on his own jacket. Realizing that it was the first time the boy had been in formal Asgardian clothing, Loki took pity on him and offered to help. By the time they’d gotten him all sorted out, Aeslin was finished. Loki stood rapidly and took her hands, spinning her slowly around to take in all the details. A simple, elegant column dress of the deepest blue he’d ever seen. It glimmered faintly in the sun, colors shifting beneath the blue, and his mind twitched at what might have been a memory. He ignored it, choosing instead to focus on the vision before him. The bodice was woven into a pattern which perfectly mirrored that on Loki’s tunic before flowing down into skirts similar to those on her wedding dress. Delicate clasps smoothly gathered the fabric at her shoulders before it tumbled down her back in draping reminiscent of a Valkyrie’s folded wings, or perhaps a cape like those favored by the Queen. It was a not-so-subtle reminder of her standing within the royal family, such as it was, and Loki smirked in appreciation.

“Well?” she asked over her shoulder, breaking into his thoughts. “What do you think?”

“A moment.” He gestured for her to turn her head away, then brushed his fingers along the jewels in her hair while calling forth a spark of _seidr_. They changed beneath his fingers from deep green to a scattering of blues. A simple glamour; the stones beneath were still the same, and though he yearned to switch them out for her, to tangle his fingers in her hair even for a moment, he knew that time was short. Too short for what he _truly_ wanted, Loki admitted, so he settled for trailing a fingernail lightly down her neck and watching goosebumps rise on her back.

A shiver went through her, so faint that he barely felt it, but there was no mistaking the look on her face when she primly tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and walked with him through the door.

“Jerk,” she murmured without rancor as she nodded to the Einherjar they passed in the hallway. He smothered a grin.

“God of mischief,” he corrected her with a serene smile, “and I’m just getting started.”

They reached a set of carved doors; it was not the entrance to the feast hall, and Aeslin gave Loki a quizzical look.

“The royal party and their guests enter the feast together. There will already be a gathering in the hall to greet us; Thor will lead us in, since it’s his party, but we go together.”

A light sigh. “ _All_ of us?”

“Unavoidable, I’m afraid. One of the few times it will be.” Loki cocked his head to Parker. “You. No spoilers.”

The young man smiled. “Nothing to worry about there; my mom _still_ doesn’t know the ending to _Fight Club_ , and that was what, ten years ago? Lips are sealed.”

Odin and Frigga had not yet arrived. Thor sat on the windowsill at the other end of the room, goblet in hand as he looked out over the palace grounds. He had just risen to greet the three when the doors opened once more. They turned to see two Einherjar come to attention, and a few seconds later, the All-Father and his queen entered. Thor immediately gave a perfect, dutiful bow, and Loki surprised himself by doing the same out of long habit. In his peripheral vision, he saw Parker mirroring him and Thor, but when he straightened again, Odin didn’t seem to have noticed any of them. He was looking at Aeslin, who apparently hadn’t moved an inch. The two regarded each other coolly, but there was curiosity in Odin’s face.

“You do realize,” the All-Father said to her after a long minute, “that it is both customary and respectful to bow to the King of Asgard? Indeed, ruler of _all_ the Realms? Your companion picked up on that easily enough.”

“Apologies, your Grace, but I’ve been informed that I’m not required to bow.”

Odin’s eyebrow went up in the dead silence that followed her words. “Not even to me?”

“To anyone,” she clarified smoothly, and Loki jammed a thumbnail into the side of his finger in a desperate effort to keep a straight face.

“And who told you this, my child?”

Ignoring the address, Aeslin replied in the same tone of voice. “Your son.” Odin’s gaze automatically went to Loki, and she gave the All-Father a gentle, patient smile. “Your _other_ son.”

His eye flicked to Thor, who silently lifted his shoulders in what might have been unrepentant apology but made no effort to deny her words. Odin exhaled slowly and turned again to Aeslin. She stood tall and straight before him, dwarfed but not cowed.

“Look,” she began, clasping her hands in front of her in the closest thing to deference Loki had yet seen from her. “There’s a reason you and I haven’t been allowed in the same room for more than about ten minutes at a time, and _never_ without supervision, and I think we can agree on the wisdom in that. I can, however, be diplomatic when required, as I’m sure you can as well, and it’s a special occasion. I think we can be civil long enough for one feast. It is Mabon, right? No old grudges.” Her lip twitched infinitesimally. “Only new ones.”

There was a tiny furrow between Odin’s brows, and Loki found it almost impossible to read his expression. At last, the All-Father spoke.

“Agreed.” He continued to study her, and after a moment, she shook her head.

“Nope,” Aeslin said. “Still not bowing.”

The look stayed on Odin’s face, but his voice was measured and calm when he spoke. “As you wish.” He turned to Frigga, who had been standing between Parker and Thor during the entire exchange, and she came forward to take his arm. Odin nodded to Thor.

“Lead on, my son.”

At a sign from Thor, the Einherjar threw the doors open at the other end of the room; light and sound washed in. A cheer rose up as Thor led the way into the feast hall and toward the high table. Loki smiled and nodded to those gathered in attendance that he recognized. It was the largest of the gathering halls; the ceiling soared far above their heads while open windows and balconies along the edges let cooling breezes pour through. People from all classes and walks of life filled the tables, nobles mingling with merchants and tavernkeepers. All stood as the royal party passed, heads bowed in respect, and Loki suppressed a smile. He hadn’t thought it possible for Aeslin to be more powerful, more desirable than she already was, and she had once again proven him wrong. He stroked his thumb across her fingers where they rested in his, earning a gentle squeeze back.

They reached the high table; a few nobles were already there, including Sif and Thor’s warriors. Thor and Odin took their places at the center of the table, with Frigga on Odin’s right and Loki on Thor’s left. Aeslin sat next to Loki, with Parker next to her and Fandral at the end. The others filled in their spots on the opposite end of the table. Once all were settled, Thor rose, gesturing for those gathered to be seated, as well. He lifted his hands in greeting.

“My friends,” he began, voice echoing through the hall, “I welcome you to the feast of Mabon.” Scattered calls, and he smiled as he continued. “There is much to celebrate this year, as always. A successful harvest, and one that has gone far beyond expectations. Abundance requires hard work, and never more so than in this season.” He raised a glass. “A toast, then, to all those in this hall and others around Asgard, without whom we would not have cause to celebrate. May you all find rest and rejuvenation in the coming days.” More cheers erupted at those words, accompanied by the thumps of goblets banged on the tables in appreciation. All drank, some more than others, and then Thor raised his hands again.

“But we have far more to celebrate!” he called over the noise, and the room quieted rapidly. He swept his hand across to where Parker and Aeslin sat. “We welcome our allies from Midgard. Long has it been since their kind stood with us - _far_ too long, in fact. Today, we raise a glass to them. To their friendship, their kindness, and their wisdom. To Midgard! May our association be long and fruitful.” Another cheer, and Loki risked a glance past Thor to watch Odin’s reaction. The All-Father lifted his glass with all the others, but his smile was the diplomatic, half-forced one with which Loki was quite familiar. A flash of color caught his attention, and he glanced down to one of the lower tables. A few of the women from the balcony during Aeslin’s initial training with Frigga sat together, including the one to which Loki had spoken. She met his eyes briefly, the beginning of a smile on her lips. He held her gaze for the briefest of moments before settling back to listen to Thor. Feast days, especially those of the planting and harvest, were notorious for dalliances, and Loki was familiar with the look. He fought the urge to roll his eyes; her slight against Aeslin was not a grudge Loki was willing to give up lightly, but he could bide his time for a few more minutes. Long enough for Thor to do it for him.

His brother had finally settled the feastgoers once more. “And what is Mabon without my brother? But this year - oh, this year - we do not only celebrate his birth. No, indeed.” A wide, knowing smile broke across Thor’s face as he pushed his chair back and casually walked behind Loki. “Today, we drink to Loki.” He rested one hand on Loki’s shoulder, then gently put the other on the back of Aeslin’s chair. “And to Aeslin Kindlesdaughter, of Midgard.” A pause as those nearest lifted their goblets, and then a wink. “His wife.”

From the corner of his eye, Loki saw Odin cough into his wine goblet, shock clearly evident to those who knew what to look for. There was a gentle _tink_ as the woman at the lower table dropped her cup. Murmurs of understanding began to spread through the hall, and the thrum of hundreds of mugs thumping on the table started in earnest. Thor spoke over the rising din with a laugh as he pulled both Loki and Aeslin to their feet, his arms around their shoulders.

“Welcome, my friends,” he shouted, “to the wedding feast!”

The roar shook the rafters, spiraling high into the falling night, while Fandral gestured to the musicians and those serving. Loki grinned, leaning in to speak in Thor’s ear.

“And just how long have you been waiting for that?” he asked, and Thor hugged him still closer.

“Gods, little brother,” Thor said. “You have _no_ idea.”

***

The furor only began to die down once porters and servers began circulating through the hall, refilling goblets and bringing the first courses out. Loki nonchalantly rested his hand on Aeslin’s leg as he leaned over to answer yet another of the questions Fandral was peppering them with about the wedding. A few approaching figures caught his attention, and he looked over to see Ingrid and a handful of the kitchen staff bearing trays, sliding his fingers delicately up Aeslin’s leg as he did so. She kicked him none-too-gently under the table, a faint flush rising along her collarbone; he grinned shamelessly at her before turning his attention to the Head of Kitchens and left his hand just where it was.

“Sneaky,” Ingrid greeted him, tapping one finger on the side of her nose before brushing a tendril of silver-streaked red hair behind her shoulder. She shook her head. “Very sneaky.”

“Well, what else did you expect?” he replied with a grin, and she snorted.

“Not a _wedding_ ,” came her reply as she dropped most of a curtsy and gracefully slid her tray onto the table. “Do I _look_ dressed for a wedding?”

“That’s the point. We didn’t want to make an ordeal out of it. It’s Mabon. It’s a feast. We just happen to be celebrating this, too.”

The woman rolled her eyes at him as Thor leaned forward, nonplussed.

“Ingrid?” he asked. “Surely you’re not serving, as well. You’ve done more than enough to prepare for this, as always; I believe it’s well past time that you allowed someone to see to your comfort, at least for the day.”

“And I’ll let them, as soon as I’m finished,” Ingrid replied, nodding to the servers that accompanied her; they moved to place their offerings in front of Odin and the rest of the table. “The old guard are saving me a seat and a drink somewhere around here, but I’ve a special dish for the high table. A Midgardian delicacy in honor of the Lady - sorry, _Princess_ Aeslin.” She shot another stern look at Loki, who smiled fondly in return. Frigga and Odin looked at the covered trays as Ingrid continued speaking, curiosity also in their faces.

Lifting the cover from her tray, she revealed two plates of the carefully arranged, tiny quiches that she and Loki had painstakingly crafted that morning. In his peripheral vision, he saw Frigga clap her hands, throwing back her head with a laugh. She leaned behind Odin’s chair to catch Loki’s eye. “ _Lorraine_?” she mouthed, and at his nod, they shared a rapid grin before she ducked out of sight once more. He turned back to Aeslin, who was staring at the plate in front of her in a vague sort of shock.

Loki brought his lips to her ear. “It’s not a party without them,” he said quietly. “Isn’t that the rule?”

She looked at him, and he was suddenly afraid that he’d done the wrong thing. Coming to her feet, she circled behind Parker and Fandral to glide down the steps leading from the high table. She faced Ingrid for a second, neck craned to look at the taller woman, then threw her arms around her in a crushing hug. Startled, Ingrid looked to Loki for a second, then clearly unsure of how to react, she returned the hug as best she could.

“There, there,” she said, awkwardly patting Aeslin on the back. “None of that, now. It’s the Trickster’s doing, not mine.”

Aeslin pulled away a little reluctantly. “I just… thank you. Thank you so much.”

Ingrid flushed, a pleased but flustered smile on her face. “As I said, my dear. Not my doing; I merely helped. He was _very_ keen on which ones were meant for you. Made them himself, and he only burned his hand twice.”

A laugh. “Sounds about right,” Aeslin replied, her voice a little damp.

Ingrid rested a hand on her cheek for a moment, then shooed her away. “Back to the table with you, girl. Save your kisses for someone else.” A wink to Loki, and then Ingrid moved away into the crowd. The servers picked up the trays and disappeared as well, leaving a very tickled Frigga and a several _quite_ confused Asgardian nobles in their wake. Aeslin returned to her seat next to Loki, and he smiled uncertainly at her.

“I didn’t overstep, then?” he asked, and she shook her head as she kissed him, eliciting raucous cheers from a nearby table. Ignoring them, she brushed her fingers along his jaw.

“You remembered,” she said. “I can’t believe you remembered. I told you once. _Once._ ”

A light shrug. “The tradition was important to you; that made it important to me. Simple.” He returned the kiss, not caring who saw. “You should eat, though. I happen to know you skipped lunch, and they’re not as good when they’re cold.”

Her smile became a little coy. “What you’re not going to feed them to me? I mean, we don’t have a wedding cake or anything, but there _is_ a bit of a precedent. Tradition, you know.”

“I could probably be convinced,” Loki answered, making a show of thinking as he dropped his hand back to her leg. “ _Probably_. There’s really no telling until you try.”

She slid her hand up his jaw to the back of his neck, making sure to run her thumb along the sensitive spot behind his ear as she did so. He bit the inside of his cheek, but a shiver threatened to break through regardless. She gave him a knowing grin as she repeated the motion.

“I love you,” she told him. “You know that, right?”

“You may have mentioned it once or twice,” he replied, “but don’t let that stop you from telling me again.” He planted his lips on her temple, breathing in the scent of her hair. “And again. Every day, if you’d like. I don’t think I’d mind one bit.”

She laughed, and he felt the hum against his skin. “Feed me that quiche,” she said, “and we’ll talk.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG YOU GUYS. I AM SO SORRY TO MAKE YOU WAIT OKAY. Things have been really wild and crazy in GtF-ville, and this one was weirdly difficult to write, but we made it. WE MADE IT and I'm so glad you're still here. Feedback appreciated! I love you all I promise! <3 <3
> 
> (Lyric from "There She Is" by Frank Turner, with minimal text changes)


	31. Chapter 31

_He takes yet another sip of wine in an attempt to settle himself. A deep breath, and he is finally able to school his face into an appropriate expression. Odin puts his goblet down just as a servant sets a plate in front of him. He gazes at it unseeing, his thoughts elsewhere._

_“You married them.”_

_Frigga smiles at the young man who serves her, then glances past Odin to the other end of the table. Apparently satisfied by what she sees, she picks up one of the tiny pastries in two graceful fingers as she calls forth a simple cantrip to muddle their words for any listeners. In a moment, they are meaningless background chatter._

_“I did,” she replies easily, as though it is of no consequence. Taking a small bite, Frigga makes an appreciative noise. “Dear me. These are even better than the ones in London.” Another bite to finish, and then she dabs at her lips with a napkin and continues without missing a beat. “Just this afternoon, in fact. It was a lovely ceremony. Small, quiet, but so very sweet. I’d forgotten how powerful the good ones can be.” She looks at his untouched food, then at his face. “Oh, come now,” she says kindly. “It can't be_ that _surprising.”_

 _“You_ married _them,” he repeats dumbly, still staring at the ridiculous little pies as his mind races. He has no idea why this rattles him so, except that it is another thing that his wife and son have kept hidden from him. It is foolish to believe that Thor didn’t know what was happening, especially given his speeches at the start of the feast. Another break in Odin’s neatly-crafted web, a web that seems to weaken by the day. Brick dissolving beneath his fingers. Or is it? The dream has not stopped. Has it even slowed? A movement from Frigga snaps his attention back to her._

_“I don’t presume to do your duties for you.” Her voice is cool as she lifts her goblet, raising it in answer to an enthusiastic Volstagg before drinking. “Kindly refrain from telling me when or how to perform mine.”_

_There is no overt anger in her tone, but Odin stifles a sigh as he takes one of the delicate pastries in front of him. “And what is this?” he asks, though he already has a good idea._

_“Quiche. I think you’ll like it, if you give it half a chance.”_

_Her true meaning is clear; he does not outwardly respond as he eats. She is right, as she so often is. Though he is a little loathe to admit it, the pastry is delicious, peasant food or not. Ingrid has outdone herself again. Odin reaches for another as he recalls the scene he witnessed in the kitchens. He wonders, then, if it is Ingrid’s handiwork before him, or Loki’s. His next bite is more thoughtful._

_“Think of it as a necessary alliance, if you must,” his wife continues. “Isn’t that what he was meant for all along? It’s not as though you could marry him to just anyone, even if he would have agreed to it. He loves her,_ Ástvinur _. She loves him, and they are… uniquely suited for each other. I’ve not seen their like for quite some time.”_ _She finishes her pastries with relish. “Well._ Those _are going into the rotation, and there are_ far _less desirable matches he could have made. If you stopped to think for a moment, perhaps to look around, that would be more than obvious to you. He wouldn’t have been happy with anyone we could have chosen for him, even given another thousand years to look.”_

_Another taste of wine while a servant appears and whisks her plate away. She is calm and relentless as the sea, and just as capricious. It is one of the things Odin loves best about her and always has, though he does not always admit it to himself. He begins to relax at her words, if a bit grudgingly._

_“It’s not about happiness,” Odin observes, nudging his plate toward her. “Not all the time. It can’t be.”_

_She unapologetically helps herself to his last quiche. “Perhaps not, but you know as well as I do that a content, happy Loki is_ infinitely _easier to deal with than the alternative. Especially considering… recent events.”_

_A snort. “So you’re just humoring him.”_

_Frigga gives him a stern look. “Far from it. Have you not heard a word I’ve said?” At Odin’s raised brow, though, she relents. “Very well. Perhaps a_ little _, but look at him, dear heart. Just_ look _, and you might see what I do. What Thor does.” She nods her thanks to the young man who refills her goblet. “However, if you insist upon being bull-headed about all this, then at least step back and look at the larger picture. In time, Midgard will more than likely prove itself a valuable and powerful ally. They have adapted without us. Grown. Evolved. Had we come to them under different circumstances, chances are that our overtures would have been rejected, or worse. But with Loki’s connections? His wife’s? Any path to collaboration will be that much smoother.“_

_“You speak as though I don’t know what Midgard is like,” he retorts. “I have seen how they are.”_

_“Have you.”_

_“You speak of them as equals.”_

_“It is not a fair comparison. You would not compare an eagle to a kingfisher, nor the sun to the moon. Would you?”_

_His eye flicks unbidden to Thor, then past him to Loki. The boy seems to feel Odin’s gaze on him. He meets it for a brief moment before lifting his goblet to the All-Father with a nod and the faintest of smiles, cordial yet dismissive. Odin does the same, and Loki turns his attention back to his woman. His_ wife. _With another sigh, Odin drains his cup._

_“It is not that simple.”_

_“It never is,_ elskan, _” Frigga replies, resting her hand on his and giving it a gentle pat as the porters arrive with baskets of bread and tureens of soup._

_“Then what would you have me do?”_

_“Tonight?” A gentle shrug. “Not much at all. Enjoy the feast. Dance a reel or two. Celebrate with those here._ All _of them, if you can. You have faced far worse days than this.”_

And will undoubtedly face more _, he thinks as the dream threatens to rear its head once more. The musicians begin a tune - one of his favorites, and it allows him to push the images away for a while longer and greet the first of many nobles that will visit the high table throughout the night. He feels a gentle breeze through the eastern windows and for a moment, just a moment, he feels what might be peace._

_***_

Mabon was one of the less formal feasts on Asgard; festival-goers came and went as they pleased, helping themselves to bounty from the laden tables. Courses changed throughout the evening, and the mood was cheerful, if a little boisterous. As the night went on, even those at the high table began to relax, wandering off to join friends, family or anything else that might pique their interest. Soon after the third course, Aeslin had abandoned her chair in favor of Loki’s lap; it had taken remarkably little coaxing on his part. The general noise of the hall and the steady stream of visitors to the high table were likely beginning to take their toll on her, but she sat in the circle of Loki’s arms with one hand casually playing with the curls at the back of his neck and the other resting on his, occasionally brushing over his wedding ring. Dignified and confident with his strength beside her, Aeslin had a sweet smile and a kind word for each well-wisher who approached.

She shifted as the most recent noble made their way back into the crowd, subtly snuggling a little closer and resting her head against his for a moment. Loki stroked her upper arm with warm fingers as he nuzzled her softly. “We don’t have to stay,” he told her, “not if you don’t want to.” He lightly nipped her earlobe. “I’m sure we can find something else to keep us occupied.”

“Can’t imagine what that might be,” she answered with a lazy smile. “It’s all right. I’m having a lovely time, and my little historian’s heart is just _aglow_ right now. This isn’t an opportunity that comes by every day, after all.” She twined her hand with his, fingers teasing lightly along his skin. “Besides,” she went on, her eyes on his mouth, “there’s something to be said for building anticipation.”

He raised a curious brow, but she merely brushed her lips against his just lightly enough to set every nerve in his body on fire. A knowing smirk, and then she pulled away, moving _just_ so as she retrieved her drink, her eyes never leaving his as she took a long sip.

“Well played,” he managed as he reached for his own cup. “ _Well_ played.”

A prim smile, and then she turned to greet the next visitor to the table.

“It might surprise you,” continued Loki after the woman had moved on, “but you and I are rather _expected_ to leave this party early.” He trailed his hand along the smooth skin of her back, idly tracing the visible portion of her tattoo. “And you know me. I hate to disappoint.”

The tiny line appeared next to her brow. “I hadn’t thought about that. Is there…” she considered, then started over. “Are they going to, uh.. help us?”

“A bedding, you mean?” He gave her a comforting smile as he tucked an errant tendril behind her ear, being sure to take his time. “ _Gods_ , no. I mean yes, they still exist, but it’s more a game than anything and never without the couple’s leave. I can’t even remember the last one I saw.” He rested his lips on her shoulder as he thought. “Wait. Beltane. Thor. I’m not sure it counts, though. It was a very long time ago, and he wasn’t _tech_ nically getting married.” Loki stroked her forehead gently until the line disappeared. “Nothing to fear, I promise. No one gets to ravage you.” A wolfish smile. “Except me.”

Two children approached the table then, one with a small bowl of fruit and the other with flowers that appeared to have been taken from one of the wreaths around the room. Aeslin slid off Loki’s lap without warning, going down the steps to greet them. A few words, then she brought them back up to the high table. Clearly not nobility, the girl and boy crowded into Parker’s vacant chair, eyes wide as they tried to see everything at once. Peeking past Loki, the girl waved shyly at Thor, who raised his cup to her with a kind smile before turning back to his conversation.

Both seemed a little in awe of Loki at first, but he did his best to put them at ease, calling forth small illusions to entertain them in exchange for the gifts they’d brought. They were laughing and chattering like magpies by the time a pair of slightly-frantic adults appeared at the table a few minutes later. After several effusive apologies that Loki accepted and then promptly dismissed, as well as his assurances to the young boy that his hair would indeed stay that glorious shade of violet for as long as he wished, the grateful matrons hustled their charges away. A few looks and whispers followed, and Loki grinned as he popped a sugared berry into his mouth.

“We’re killing them, you know,” he said, settling more comfortably in his chair and allowing Aeslin to reclaim his lap. She replaced her hand at the back of his neck. Loki let his eyes close for a moment as she gently kneaded the muscles there, all but purring in his appreciation; the day had already been long, and his body was beginning to recall the trouncing it had received that morning. He stretched to let her reach a sore spot beneath his collar as he went on.

“A royal wedding, not a breath of warning, and now every noble in the place is stuck visiting the head table completely unprepared for the most illustrious Mabon in recent history. I’d think it downright cruel of us if it weren’t so damn funny. I predict brisk business at the marketplace for the next few days, regardless of how many people we’ve assured that we need absolutely nothing. They’ll find a way to get it to us anyway.”

“And then what? It’s not as though we’re lacking for anything.”

He shrugged, running his fingers from her knee to hip as he pulled her closer. “We very discreetly find someone who _actually_ needs what we’ve been given and make sure they get it. No fanfare, no need for thanks, and no real acknowledgement of what you’ve done. It just _poof_ , appears in their home one day; they’re ostensibly none the wiser of how it got there, and life goes on. It’s something Frigga started as a bit of punishment during a very, shall we say, unruly season of her sons’ lives, and it’s evolved into something greater over time.” He smiled at her. “As the best things tend to do.”

Her lip twitched as he shifted his hand a little higher. “Do they.”

“Yes,” he answered simply, stroking his thumb idly below her ribs as he met her eyes, still in awe by what he saw there. “They do.”

***

_He finds his eye repeatedly drawn back to the woman in Loki’s lap. The woman who refused to bow to him, and the one who had willingly placed herself between the All-Father and Loki’s broken body upon his return to Asgard. The one who has faced both Thor and Frigga in combat and emerged largely in one piece, beaten but unbent. Odin toys with a crust of bread on his plate, his attention nominally held by a conversation between Frigga and Sif that’s occurring somewhere to his right. The conversation is just that, though, words humming in the background as curiosity once again brings his gaze to Loki’s wife._

_He had thought her arrogant at first, or, in his more generous moments, merely naive. She would become like all the others through the years that had managed to winnow a crack in the Trickster’s armor, if only for a moment. The ones who were drawn to his darkness, to his brooding. So different than his shining brother; they always assumed that they would be the ones to bring him into the light. That they would be the one to successfully navigate the snares he set to keep himself apart._

_Those that tried were always the same, in the end. They simpered; they giggled; they fawned, and one by one, they fell by the wayside, leaving Loki to carry on as he always had. Aloof. Solitary._

Not always.

 _The voice picks at him as though tugging at a loose thread on his tunic._ Not always _, he allows at last_.

 _This one does not fawn or simper. She does not cling to Loki as though she is afraid he will forget somehow that she is there. The girl sits in his lap as though she belongs nowhere else, hand idly soothing the back of his neck while her attention is elsewhere. There is a confidence to her that goes far beyond the surface. He allows a touch of_ seidr _to escape him, pulling on the Sight as he worries the crust to crumbs in his hand, and he sees it. Not only confidence. Not only magic, bright and powerful. Odin sees joy as well, but it is twined with a sorrow so vast, so deep that he almost cannot bear to look. There is passion, but there is compassion and strength. Her bearing is kind. Not truly regal, perhaps, but if her visitors are any indication, she welcomes each as an equal, or nearly so. He is jolted by the sudden realization that he can imagine her with Thor. The vision does not come as easily as the reality before him, but it also does not trouble him half as much as he thinks it should._

_The girl takes her attention from the noble in front of her for half a second, brow knitting faintly as she begins to turn toward him. Odin abandons the Sight and settles back smoothly, knowing that she has sensed his scrutiny, even if she does not realize what it truly is._

_He need not worry about her attention, though; the musicians strike up a cheerful, familiar tune, and Thor perks up immediately. He springs up with a laugh, dodging around Loki’s chair to take Aeslin’s hand and tug her free of his brother’s lap. He pulls her to her feet as others begin to gather below the high table. As she stands, she drags Loki with her. He follows her down the steps to join the dance for the first time in recent memory, a brilliant smile on his face. Odin reaches for his goblet as the celebrants take their places; Loki holds Aeslin’s hands easily in his, showing her the first few steps. They grin when she missteps, bumping into him with a bit more force than necessary, and he twirls her in his arms with a laugh that can be heard over the music._

_Odin idly taps his finger on the table, falling into the reel’s rhythm without noticing. He watches his son dance with the woman of his dreams, the one who plucked him from the ashes without a thought, and a faint smile begins on his lips as he remembers Frigga’s words._

_An unexpected ally, indeed._

***

Eager to see what a true Asgardian feast could be, Parker had talked Fandral into abandoning their seats as soon as decorum allowed so that he could explore. The warrior had agreed immediately; his love for the pomp of the high table was far outweighed by the friendlier, more relaxed atmosphere that infused the lower levels of the hall.

It wasn’t much of a difference in height, to be sure. Only a few steps raised the royal party above the rest of the feast-goers, but the difference even a few meters away was remarkable. The two friends wandered between the heavy trestle tables, stopping frequently to greet friends or to allow for introductions. Parker made sure to keep his goblet nearly full with the lightly-sweetened, fuzzy sort of juice he’d grown fond of during his time on Asgard. Fandral had assured him that it had few to no intoxicating properties, and Parker wanted to make sure that this was a party he remembered.

Not that he would easily forget, he admitted as he soaked in the scene around him. The hall was filled with music and chatter and amazing aromas, and he was grateful when Fandral took the hint and followed him to one of the long banquet tables. They accepted plates loaded with meat, bread, fruit and cheeses, and then Parker dodged through the crowd to a spot he’d stopped at early on, and where Eir had saved them seats among what she laughingly referred to as the Old Guard.

More places had been filled in his absence: Ragnborg, Ingrid, and several others that Parker recognized from both the library and his council meetings. He smiled to each of them as Ragnborg and the Head of Kitchens shifted on the long bench to allow Parker and Fandral to sit down. Eir nodded from across the table at both of them. The conversation picked up around him as he dug into his food, which turned out to be some of the best he’d ever tasted. Ingrid glanced over in a bit of alarm when his fork dropped to his plate, but she was barely able to get a word out before he’d flung his arms tightly around her in sheer joy.

“Sweet mother _Idunn_ ,” she protested with what might have been a laugh as she tried to wriggle free. “What _is_ it with you children? Have you no other way to show your thanks?”

“I can’t think of a better one,” came his unapologetic reply as he let go and allowed her to recover, “but I’m always willing to learn. Like bluebells. Did you know Eir likes bluebells? They’re her favorite, but this is _amazing_ . What is it? Do I want to know? I might not want to know, so don’t tell me. Just know that I love it. _Love_ it.”

Ingrid glanced helplessly at Fandral, then at Eir, who smiled behind her goblet. “I did tell you,” she said. “He’s a delight, and if the rest of Midgard is anything like him and the Trickster’s wife, I for one look forward to opening the Ways again.” An almost imperceptible glance up to the high table, which loomed close at hand. “Should it ever happen.”

A laugh. “Oh, we’re a disaster,” Parker answered as he tried some roasted vegetables. “Don’t get me wrong; by and large, people are incredible and wonderful and good, but we’re just… not as cohesive as we could be. I think we’re improving all the time, though, especially now that we know for sure we’re not alone. Things will change sooner rather than later.”

One of the council gentlemen gave a gentle scoff. “I’m not so sure about that, and I believe that the All-Father also has his reservations.”

“Nobody’s perfect.” Parker shrugged with a polite smile that was just shy of friendly. “Contrary to popular belief.”

“ _Kvæði_!” Fandral suddenly bellowed, interrupting whatever the councilman was about to retort. Parker caught a bit of music, and then Fandral yanked him and Rangborg off the bench and toward a large group that were sorting themselves into a linked circle. “Come, Healer!” he cried over his shoulder. “Our human needs a partner, and you’d best hurry before I steal him for myself!”

Eir joined them with a shake of her head and a bright smile, and before Parker knew it, he was drawn into the simple yet intricate dance, winding in and out of the circle with the others. He caught glimpses of Loki and Aeslin as they wove around tables and other party-goers, and Fandral smiled.

“Another miracle,” he chuckled when they passed by. “Will they never cease?”

Parker cheered with the others when the dance was done, then made his way back to the bench and flopped down next to Ingrid for a momentary breather. A porter swept by with fresh drinks, and he took one gratefully. Fandral joined them soon after but only stayed long enough to down most of his goblet’s contents before popping back up to join another reel. Parker merely waved to him as he went, preferring this time to be an observer.

As the evening wore on, however, and the dancers began to disperse in search of drink and dessert, Parker found his attention drawn to the musicians seated nearby. They seemed to be the ones nominally attached to the high table; several other small groups were scattered throughout the massive hall. Most of their instruments were familiar, if not completely analogous to those on Earth, but there were a few outliers which made him curious. Noticing his study, Fandral wandered over to the group during a break in the music and invited them back to the table. The musicians came gladly, lured by the promise of food, drink and company, and Parker grinned a little. Some things, at least, were universal.

“So you play, then?” one of them asked as Parker inspected something close to a lute or guitar. He handed it over, and Parker took it, running his hands appreciatively over the smooth, warm wood.

Parker grinned. “Not very well,” he admitted, “and never one of these. Something very close, though.” He plucked some strings experimentally, pulling forth clean, rich notes. It didn’t seem that different from a guitar, not now that it was in his hands, and he tried a chord or two. A bit of melancholy took over as he did so; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d played. It felt as though it had been years, and a tiny wave of homesickness washed over him. He smiled to cover it, picking more of a melody out and gaining confidence with each succeeding note. The noise of the hall had quieted for the moment, leaving a sort of calm in the air as the night began to wind down.

“Not bad for a beginner,” the man laughed. “Perhaps you should play us a tune, Midgardian. Broaden our horizons a bit.”

“I only know a few by heart.” He trailed the pads of his fingers up the strings with an answering chuckle. “Not all of us have had a thousand years to build a repertoire, you know.”

“Two thousand four hundred and thirty-nine, thank you very much,” came the musician’s reply as he stretched weary hands. “No room for amateurs in the royal consort.”

“Then perhaps I should give this back, since I am _quite_ clearly a rank amateur.”

Hamund waved loftily as he drank. “Keep her a while, so long as you teach her a new song or two in return. Go on, boy. You’ve been dying to since you first put hands on her. Play for us.”

Parker thought as he strummed tunelessly. There were a few songs he knew, but none really suited for the current company. He glanced up to the high table, where Odin had resumed his seat after a turn on the dance floor, and where Aeslin and Loki chatted quietly with Thor. He looked at those gathered around him: Ragnborg, Ingrid, the councilman dozing a few seats away. Inwardly shaking his head, Parker let his fingers begin to pick a pattern. They were slowed a little by the unfamiliar instrument, but it wouldn’t be obvious to those listening. He played louder, letting the melody flow, and then he began to sing.

***

It really had been the best Mabon in Loki’s memory. Not only the wedding and the time in the kitchen in the busy hours before dawn, but even now, at the feast. The atmosphere at the high table was as relaxed as he could remember, thanks to Thor and the buffer he created between the All-Father and the newlyweds. It could almost be considered a conversation between the four of them, though Aeslin was still loathe to speak to Odin unless directly addressed. It was a masterwork of diplomacy on Thor’s part, and Loki made a mental note to shower him with praise and alcohol in equal measure when they had time again. His brother would shrug it off, as he was wont to do these days, but this was something to be proud of.  

Music filtered through the chatter, and Loki realized after a moment that he recognized the tune. He shifted, looking past Aeslin to see Parker sitting amid several courtiers and musicians. She followed his gaze as the song ended and those at the table applauded and banged their cups. Startled by the noise, Odin also peered curiously over. There was a call for another song, and Parker nodded, sparing a glance for the high table before beginning anew.

Only a few bars had passed before Loki knew the song; Aeslin went still at nearly the same moment.

“He’s not,” she whispered, a bit of awe in her voice. “He’s _not_.”

Loki allowed a wolfish smile to break across his face. “Oh,” he replied softly, his breath tickling her ear, “but he is.”

Parker’s voice rose, clear and strong, and Loki didn’t even need to turn around to know how keenly Odin was watching the boy.

_In restless dreams I walked alone_

_Narrow streets of cobblestone_

_'Neath the halo of a street lamp_

_I turned my collar to the cold and damp_

_When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light_

_That split the night_

_And touched the sound of silence_

“He is,” repeated Loki, “and he knows _exactly_ what he’s doing.” He tore his gaze away from Parker long enough to look at Aeslin’s face; she was watching her friend with a proud sort of half-smile.

_And in the naked light I saw_

_Ten thousand people, maybe more_

_People talking without speaking_

_People hearing without listening_

_People writing songs that voices never shared_

_For no one dared_

_Disturb the sound of silence_

A few others had stopped to listen, as well, but Parker blithely continued on as if he were in Tony’s family room and not in one of the grandest halls in all the Realms. Loki bit the inside of his lip to keep from grinning like a fool; the boy never ceased to amaze him, and the absolute _cheek_ he was showing while all but sitting at the All-Father’s feet was both astounding and hilarious. It was enough to nearly bring the very god of chaos to tears of pride, or perhaps hysterical laughter. Loki bit harder.

_Fools, said I, you do not know_

_Silence like a cancer grows_

_Hear my words that I might teach you_

_Take my arms that I might reach you_

_But my words like silent raindrops fell_

_And echoed in the wells of silence_

The last notes drifted up toward the roof beams, and the musicians and those around the table gave raucous applause and cheers. Parker tried to hand back the instrument, but Hamund gestured for the boy to continue, which he did gratefully. Loki reached forward to retrieve a treat from his plate, risking the tiniest of glances at Odin as he did so.

The All-Father sat relaxed in his chair, chin resting on his hand as he surveyed Parker. There was not a whisper of anger in his face, which made absolutely no sense to Loki. Even having never heard the song before, Odin would not have missed the pointed message in the lyric. The choice had been deliberate, as well; that much was _also_ abundantly clear. Parker continued plucking random tunes, speaking with this person or that and nonchalantly avoiding any sort of eye contact with the royal party. Loki noticed that Fandral sat very near the boy, casually drinking but keeping a watchful eye for movement from the high table or from anywhere else.

There was no need, however. Odin watched Parker for another long moment, a thoughtful furrow in his brow. Thor brushed his father’s arm; Odin seemed to jolt out of whatever reverie held him and then picked up the conversation with his son once more. Aeslin met Loki’s eyes, a wordless question in her gaze, and he shrugged infinitesimally with a bit of a smile and stroked soothing fingers along her spine. Her skin was warm beneath his touch, and he sighed a little as he pressed a kiss to the angle of her jaw. She hummed slightly, but her attention was elsewhere, and he studied her face as another petitioner approached the table. There was a bit of weariness there, kept carefully hidden from those not familiar with her, but he knew the signs. He laced his fingers with hers.

“Had enough?” He pressed a light, teasing kiss to the inside of her wrist. It served a dual purpose, both to muffle his words from the incoming noble and to distract her just a little. Aeslin responded with a bit of a smile as he worked his way higher on her arm.

“Of the feast, maybe,” she admitted, shifting deliberately against him with a tiny smirk and coaxing fire from the base of his spine. “Though I’d hate to leave Parker unattended.”

“He’ll be fine. Fandral will keep a close watch on him, and I daresay Thor will do the same. They’re no idiots; I would even venture to say that Parker may or may not have earned Fandral’s undying loyalty with that stunt. He appreciates guts when he sees them. We’d be leaving our esteemed Parker in good hands, and you’ll be in even _better_ ones.”

“Promises, promises,” came her lofty reply, and he retaliated by grazing his teeth lightly against her skin. She bit her lip, narrowing her eyes at him. He gave her an innocent grin, then turned to greet the newcomer. They exchanged a few pleasantries before the man moved on. Loki glanced over to the table where Parker sat; he’d returned his instrument and was now chatting with Fandral. A nod to the swordsman, and Fandral spoke briefly to Parker. They both returned to the high table and took their seats. Aeslin smiled and squeezed Parker’s hand when she returned to her own chair at last. Loki nudged Thor. They exchanged a few whispered words; Thor nodded, and Loki stood, offering a hand to Aeslin and bringing her to her feet, as well. The hall around them fell silent.

“My friends,” Aeslin began, “thank you so much for your hospitality. We’re honored that you’ve joined us for our wedding feast. It has truly been a warm welcome, and I look forward to many more celebrations with all of you.” A nod to Odin, then to Frigga and Thor, who returned her smiles with bright ones of their own.

Loki stroked his thumb across her knuckles, then spoke. “I also thank you for a delightful Mabon; it will certainly be one to remember. You’ll forgive us, though, if we don’t stay.” A wink. “I think we’ve behaved ourselves for _far_ too long as it is.”

Laughter met his words, and a few in the audience began to call for a bedding, but Loki shook his head with a stern grin. A flick of his fingers, a flash of light and thunder, and then he and Aeslin vanished in a spray of glittering stardust.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback appreciated! <3 Thank you all for being here! I hope you're enjoying the story!
> 
> Parker is singing Sound of Silence by Paul Simon, (with minor textual changes) but he's playing it more like the version by Disturbed which is AMAZING. (go find it srsly)
> 
> Kvæði: a form of Faroese ballad; in this context, I'm using it as the name of a song or dance that goes with it (and also a Thank The Maker A Change Of Subject from Fandral. bless Fandral.)
> 
> Ástvinur: an endearment.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied  
>  And illuminate the noes on their vacancy signs  
> If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks  
> Then I'll follow you into the dark_

They wove together through hallways filled with celebrants, invisible to all those around them. The crowds parted around them unthinkingly, aware of only a slight breeze or the faint scent of rain at nightfall. She laughed as he guided her into an alcove to avoid a particularly rowdy group of revelers.

“And here I thought we’d actually vanish,” she snickered, voice a little muffled in the warm darkness. “But no, you’ve decided to add in a round of Asgard’s version of hot lava meets Red Rover. It just figures.”

“The disappearing you’re thinking of largely involves portals, and it can be both involved and unpredictable." He bent to kiss her. "Hardly something I want to spend energy on when there are infinitely more delightful things I _could_ be doing.”

“Then we should get on with it,” she replied with a grin, peeking out into the corridor. "Looks like we’ve got a clear path. Where’s this surprise again?”

“Nice try,” Loki answered, allowing her to lure him out of the alcove before leading the way once more. It was only a matter of moments before they reached the door he’d been seeking; the handle yielded under a wisp of power as the embedded _seidr_ recognized him. He pushed the door open; Aeslin looked around with curiosity as they entered.

“Where are we?”

“Thor’s study, such as it is.” Loki took in the room with an easy familiarity. A polished stone fireplace stretched along one wall, with an equally impressive bookcase along the other. Tapestries dotted the wall at random intervals, but the effect was rather pleasant. Loki trailed his fingers along the massive table. Stacks of books, treatises and neat piles of scrolls were crowded on the desktop, along with corked ink bottles and several sheets of parchment covered in Thor’s large, distracted script. He rested a hand briefly on the pebbled leather of the topmost volume. “Looks like it’s seen more use lately, though. Very encouraging; it shows that he’s no longer relying merely on what he’s told.” He glanced at a large chair near the fireplace that held a blanket and bore clear signs of being slept in. No one else Loki knew treated a pillow like that, with the occasional exception of his beloved. His _wife._ A brief smile crossed his lips at the word before he went on. “I like what he’s done with the place.”

Aeslin released his hand long enough to wander over and inspect the bookcase; she leaned closer to study some of the more ornate bindings. “This was your surprise?”

A gentle laugh. “As delightful as Thor’s evolution may be, no. It’s merely a step on the path.” Loki crossed the rugs scattered on the richly-stained wooden floors toward a tapestry hanging near the back corner. It was somehow simultaneously magnificent and bland, to the point that neither brother actually remembered what it was meant to portray. It meant to be overlooked, like most of the wall hangings in the palace, and this particular one had been chosen for good reason. Aeslin followed him, skirts whispering along the ground. She stopped next to him.

“That’s… something,” she finally managed.

Loki rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing. It’s merely covering _this_ up.” He raised the tapestry with a flourish, revealing bare stone wall. With a faint smile, Loki reached out; his hand passed through without a sound, vanishing nearly to the wrist. Her lip twitched.

“I thought you said no portals.”

“If a portal is a smart phone,” he explained, “then this is two cans and a string. It’s got one job: connect two fixed points.” He raised a brow expectantly, and she sighed a little.

“Oh, fine; I’ll take the bait, but only because you’re so pretty. Where does it go?”

He took both of her hands in his. “ _That’s_ the surprise. Close your eyes.” After she’d obeyed, he led her forward delicately, feeling the magic brush past them both as they stepped across the threshold.

“One stair down,” he instructed. “Now another, not as high. There.” He kept hold of her fingers. “Now open them.”

She ran her thumbs across his knuckles unthinkingly as she took in the room around her. Heavy, dark beams stretched across the ceiling; it gave the place a bit of weight, but not an oppressive one. The motif was mirrored in the floors, which were made of the same rich, hand-hewn wood. The lodge was spacious, but the warm tapestries and furniture gave it a comfortable, cozy feeling. It was quiet and peaceful, a far cry from the bustle of the palace and surrounding city. The only sound was a slight breeze, lazily ribboning through a set of wind chimes on the house’s exterior.

“What is this place?” she asked, an appreciative smile spreading across her face. “ _Where_ is this place? I love it already.”

“We’re deep within the largest of the royal game reserves. I don’t know that anyone other than Thor or I has set foot in this part of the realm in quite some time. It’s never really been great for hunting, to be honest, but that was never the point. As for what,” he continued, shrugging with a light grin, “It all depends on who’s looking.” Twirling her around with one hand, Loki gestured around the room. “From the outside, it’s a rather nondescript shepherd’s cottage that could use a bit of repair. Something you’d never notice if you weren’t looking for it. On the inside? See for yourself.” Loki guided her toward his suite of rooms.

“Thor and I built it as an escape for when palace life got too much. We rarely use it at the same time, but the entrance has always been in his library. It was the one place we could think of to hide it where no one would suspect, and the room was rarely used, in any case.” He snorted a little. “We may need to move it if he continues using his study as much as he has been, though. Wouldn’t want anyone else to stumble into it.”

“You mean besides all the women you’ve lured here over the years?”

“Sacred ground, love,” he retorted without malice. “No dalliances allowed. It’s the one rule. Not even our parents know this place exists. Just Thor and I, and I had to get special permission to bring you here. By which I mean it was completely Thor’s idea. He spent most of a morning making sure it was stocked with everything we might need.” He smiled at the memory of Thor waylaying him in the corridor on his way to the marketplace, all boisterous excitement and bursting with plans. They passed an open window, and as they did so, Loki heard a soft peal of thunder. It was followed by a gentle patter of rain that strengthened rapidly.

“Speaking of which, there’s Thor’s gift now. Never is this place as beautiful as in a storm, and he promised a perfect one for us.” A breath of magic, and a few sconces on the wall began to glow. They saw the table at the same time; it held several vases of flowers, a chest and a few other packages. The twined ribbons from their ceremony rested on top of the foremost box, one clearly marked with a royal sigil, and Aeslin laughed.

“I guess Thor wasn’t the only one who ignored the part where we said _no gifts_.”

“Can you _honestly_ tell me that you expected something different?”

“No,” came her simple reply. “No, I can’t.” She sank into the wide, comfortable chair next to the table with a grateful sigh. Loki dragged a footstool over with the toe of one boot, dropping onto the cushion without a thought and pulling her leg into his lap. She smiled lazily as he unfastened one of her sandals, making sure to run his fingers up her calf and trace them along the inside of her knee as he did so. A soft chuckle escaped her as he repeated the action with the other shoe, and he smiled at her, his hands still gently massaging tired muscles.

“Got enough in you to open gifts?” he asked. “It’s tradition, mostly to make sure nothing’s going to explode, escape or otherwise ruin the wedding night. Morning. Do you even know what time it is? I’ve lost track.”

“Pretty sure it’s already sometime next week, but what’s a little while longer?” she laughed, leaning forward to kiss him before standing. “Tradition is tradition.”

The first gift was a simple wooden box; it contained packages of Loki’s favorite pastries and other basic meal ingredients. It was accompanied by a simple but pointed note on the importance of keeping up one’s strength. Loki smirked at Ingrid’s signature before taking the box into the lodge’s kitchen and storing it in the already fully-stocked larder. Upon his return, Aeslin chose a smaller box to open. Reaching in, she pulled out a diaphanous wisp of fabric with delicate straps. Loki’s throat went unapologetically dry, and she raised one brow knowingly as she lifted the chemise on two slender fingers.

“We should save this for a special occasion, I think.”

After a false start or two, Loki managed to force out an entire sentence. “What’s more auspicious than a wedding night?”

“A Thursday.” She grinned unrepentantly as she tucked the garment back into its box. “Any Thursday will do; historically, they’re not that exciting. Mostly office hours, you know?” A look flashed across her face as she replaced the lid, and he ran comforting fingers along her neck.

“We’ll get back,” he soothed, “and they’ll be waiting for you with open arms.”

A small laugh as she leaned into his touch. “You have a rather funny idea of how the academic world works.”

Loki smirked at her. “You know me. I’m nothing without my unending optimism.”

She looped her arms around his neck at that, her laugh blossoming into something brighter. “I think you’ve gotten your brothers mixed again,” she replied, allowing the moment to pass as she went up on her toes to kiss him again.

“Wouldn’t _that_ be awkward.”

“I shudder to think.”

“Follow my advice then, and don’t.” He dipped his mouth, nuzzling her firmly and in just the right spot. “I’ll give you something much better to focus on.”

“I just bet you will,” she answered as she unsuccessfully tried to dodge his lips, dissolving into the helpless giggles that only came when she was truly exhausted. Loki relented after only a few seconds, but not before blowing a very unromantic raspberry on her shoulder.

“Final gift, then, and after that it’s off to bed, little minx.”

“Only if you’re there, too.” Her arms tightened around his neck for a moment before trailing down his chest. “ _And_ only after I get a shirt with sleeves and _you_ lose about five layers of clothing. Not that I’m complaining, by the way. You are ri _dic_ ulously beautiful in full Asgardian wear. Asgarb, as it were.” A badly-stifled snort; she was clearly running on sheer adrenaline. “Have I mentioned that lately?”

He smile was affectionate as he brushed his thumbs along her waist. “Maybe once or twice.”

She winked, then tilted her head toward the final box. “Your turn. I opened the last one.”

Loki cleanly broke the small seal keeping the wooden chest shut; a trace of _seidr_ lifted into the air before vanishing almost immediately. Another mark of Frigga’s work. He lifted the lid with a trace of trepidation, then shut his eyes and lifted his face to the ceiling with a wince.

“ _Bollocks_ ,” he burst out through clenched teeth, wanting to either laugh or shake his mother silly. “She’s done it _again_.”  

Aeslin peeked past him into the box. “What’s she done?”

“She’s done it again,” Loki repeated. “ _Literally_. She somehow found time in all this nonsense to make us another marriage _teppi_. As if one weren't enough of a hint.” He plucked the edge of a warm, soft blanket from the box; this one was the black of a midnight sky and liberally speckled with the familiar constellations that stretched above Asgard. The work was flawless and clearly his mother’s. No one else had quite the knack.

Poking the fabric with a cautious finger as though half-expecting it to bite her, Aeslin laughed. “Damn. She is re _lent_ less. I thought Tony and Parker were bad.”

“Give them a few thousand years and a pair of sons who _obviously_ have no concept of filial responsibility, and they just might catch up.” He closed the lid with a noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl, then pulled Aeslin away from the table and toward the archway that led into the rest of his chambers.

The shutters were open, letting the rain-soaked breeze wander through the massive bedroom. Loki touched a finger of his free hand to the mantelpiece as he walked by, and the logs arranged in the large stone fireplace sparked to life, bathing the room in warm, flickering light almost immediately.

“And as I’ve said before, don’t let her feelings sway you. She’s very convincing, to be sure, but don’t allow her to push you into something you’re not ready for. Or something you don’t want at all.” He opened the intricately carved door of his recessed wardrobe, giving Aeslin her pick of his tunics to sleep in. He’d packed quite a few extra, knowing her habits, and he sat on the foot of the bed, gratefully kicking off his boots while she perused her options.  

“Haven’t yet,” she answered easily, settling on a comfortable, dusky green one. “Don’t plan to now.” With her selection draped over on arm, Aeslin sauntered over toward the bed. “Help me get this off?”

He let a predatory grin slip onto his face as she approached. “Thought you’d never ask.”

She could have done it herself, of that he was certain, but he followed her instructions on where to find clips and fasteners. Loki took as much time as he dared, sliding his hands over exposed skin and leaving kisses everywhere he could reach. Eventually he let go, and she turned, holding the bodice to her chest with a slender hand and leaning down to peck him chastely on the lips before strolling to the en suite in search of a hairbrush and something to wash her face.

Aeslin was back in a matter of moments, face scrubbed and brush in hand; she hadn’t bothered to lace the tunic in the slightest, and it threatened to slip down one shoulder. Shrugging the shirt up nonchalantly, she tossed the brush on the bed beside him and held out a hand. Loki allowed her to pull him to his feet, and between the two of them, they managed to divest him of his heavy surcoat, vest and other clothing. At last, he flopped back onto the bed, arms outstretched and eyes closed.

“Damn Asgardians and their formal clothing.” He groaned with relief as blessedly cool air wafted across his bare chest. “Now that I know what a tux is, I’ll take one of them any day. Far less complicated, even _with_ the bowtie.”

“The more you know,” she grinned, straddling his legs and bracing her hands on either side of him. “Got one more job in you?”

Inertia and adrenaline both disappearing rapidly, he only managed a sleepy hum and a small but significant twitch of his hips. “Depends on the job.”

Her face was understanding. “Can’t sleep with all these pins in, but I thought I’d give you first dibs.”

Loki hummed again, his fingers itching to tangle into her hair as they’d wanted to all day. The occasional wisp that had escaped during the feast had only whetted his appetite. He opened his eyes. “You know me too well, little one.”

“No such thing.” She scooted backward, tugging him upright as she went. “And besides, I love that you love it.”

Loki worked his way up to the top of the bed, shifting pillows and coming to rest against the headboard. Aeslin sat in front of him, back straight and one hand resting on his leg. Setting the hairbrush aside for the moment, Loki set to work undoing the handmaid’s skilled and apparently _quite_ complicated work. She broke the comfortable silence after a moment, her voice thoughtful as she stroked one thumb along the inside of his thigh.

“So… do you want to use it? The _teppi_ , I mean.”

His fingers slowed fractionally; the question caught him a little off guard. “My opinion shouldn’t matter either,” he ventured, sliding out yet another hairpin and adding it to the growing pile next to him.

“Well, from what I understand, I can’t use it by myself, so I think you have _more_ than a little say in the matter.” There was a hint of pique in her tone, so he let out a small huff of air and went for it.

“More than anything,” he admitted, almost glad she couldn’t see his face. “To have that with you would be everything I could ever need. Everything I could ever want, or even _hope_ to want. To have that connection with you…” he let out a small laugh. “It’s scandalous, really, at least to those on the outside. I’ve known you for less time than the space between one breath and the next, as far as Asgard is concerned, and we’re already bound by the blessing and hand of the Queen herself. It’s downright shocking, and it _should_ be. We make no sense, except that we do. Sometimes, to me, we’re the _only_ thing that does. It just seems… right.”

He trailed off, wrapping a dark tendril around his finger. “I can’t tell you that you make me a better man, because you and I both know that you couldn’t make me anything I wasn’t already capable of being, even if you tried. You lift me. You make me whole. The bond we have transcends anything I’ve experienced with another person, and anything that could possibly make that stronger? I’d do it in a heartbeat.” He cleared his throat gently as he pulled the last of the pins free, then scooped up the whole mess, jewels and all, and dropped it onto the table next to the bed. They could sort it out later. He combed his fingers gently through the unruly curls that the tight knots had left behind, the motion soothing to both of them. “But as I said. Don’t let me force your choice.”

“You can’t.” She squeezed his knee gently. “It’s already made. It’s been made since we opened the box.” Shifting her position, she settled into his lap, knees against his thighs. “The first time, I mean. This one just seals the deal, really, and it’s all the more important to me now.” Aeslin stroked her fingers along his chest, talking more to her hands than to him, but then she looked up and met his eyes.

“Do you remember what you told me? After Phil… after Phil?” She didn’t seem to want an response, and he let her continue without answering. He merely nodded, resting his hands on her hips as he had done during nearly every important conversation they’d ever had. “Not right after. Later, when you tried to explain what you’d told me in the duty locker to help me sleep. When you told me what it meant.” A wistful smile touched her mouth at the memory, joy and agony in the same moment. The words weren’t perfect, but they didn’t have to be. He knew them as well as his own name. “Take me with you,” she told him. “Keep me there, so when the darkness comes, it won’t find you alone. It will have to take both of us.” Aeslin lifted a hand to cup his jaw, running a thumb along his lower lip. “Full circle. Don’t you see? We have the chance to finish what you started all those months ago. Whatever magic you bear; whatever it is Odin did to you… maybe we won’t be able to stop it. Maybe we’ll just be able to slow it down long enough to have what will _never_ be enough time. But if the time comes - when the darkness comes for you, it won’t find you alone. It will have to face us both.” Heedless of the tears clinging to her lashes, she slid her other hand behind his neck, resting her forehead against his.

“I love you, Loki. It’s such a small word, and it doesn’t even begin to cover how I feel. I’ve paid a price too high to pay to get you. I’ve walked through hell and back for you, and I will do it again, and again, and again… as many times as it takes. But I will _not_ lose you. Not without a fight. Any weapon. Any edge. It doesn’t matter. I love you.”

Loki felt her fingers brush against his face, and they came away wet. “I don’t know what will happen,” he said when he could finally speak. “If it takes you too…”

“...then it will be about damn time something got to me,” she finished without a hint of apology, “and I can’t think of a better reason. I’m sick to _death_ of being left behind. What I promised in that garden today wasn’t just words, Loki. You are mine, and I am yours.”

“Just when I think I can’t love you more.” He pulled away enough to see her face clearly. “Again you prove me wrong, and I’m glad.” A sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob escaped him as he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. “I’m so glad.”

“We’re agreed, then?”

He gave her a brilliant smile. “Very much so,” he said, allowing his hands to fall back to her hips. “Magic like this is powerful, though. It requires focus and intention, just like any other spell of this magnitude, and though the _seidr_ woven into the _teppi_ will do most of the work, it would be better if we’re rested, not coming off a party that’s lasted a full day and counting.”

“Tomorrow.” There was no question in her tone this time.

“Tomorrow,” he promised. “Rest, food, a bath, perhaps a little exploring, and then we can spend as long as we want making sure we get it _ab_ solutely right.”

Aeslin nodded. A bit of shifting, and they curled together beneath the cool, crisp sheets as the rain began to die and the fire dimmed. She rested in his arms, legs tangled with his and her head on his chest. Her fingers traced idle circles on his skin for only a moment before they grew heavy and still, her breath evening out as she dropped into sleep like a stone.

Loki stared up at the beams in the ceiling, a single thought crystallizing as he began to drift. Enough was enough. Odin would be made to answer for what he had done, but Loki could wait for that. There was a more immediate issue at hand. He could not risk allowing his pride to kill both him and Aeslin; he vowed that as soon as they returned from their time in the cottage, he would find Odin and ask for the spell to be lifted. He would beg if needed, prostrate himself in front of the entire court if that’s what the bastard required. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Thor, yes. Parker, yes. Frigga, yes. If the worst should come, they would grieve him, and they were important, but in this moment, nothing and no one mattered beyond the woman sleeping in his arms. His wife. His beloved.

His mind made up, Loki closed his eyes, holding Aeslin just a little tighter as he allowed himself to sleep at last.

***

 _It is well past midday when he finally wakes; the room is still in shadow, thanks to the well-positioned shutters. This is not the first time Loki has slept the day away in this room, but it_ is _the first time he has had company. And such company it is._

_She is still sleeping, snuggled comfortably beneath the covers with one arm flung protectively across his chest. He chooses that for his initial target, walking his fingers gently up her hand to her elbow, then stroking back again. When that fails to garner a reaction, he opts for heavier ammunition, bringing her fingers to his lips and kissing the tips one at a time. He senses her coming awake, but she does not tip her hand, and he smiles against the inside of her wrist as he continues his assault. He has barely made it to her elbow before a stifled snort escapes her; it’s always been one of her more ticklish spots. She finally opens her eyes to look at him, face stern. Loki grins innocently as he lifts his head._

_“Afternoon, Doctor Laufeyson,” he says._

_Her brow quirks just slightly. “And a fine afternoon to you as well, Mister Kindle.”_

_He pauses for a moment, working his lips higher as he does so._

_“Hmm.” A small, thoughtful nip to the shoulder. “I don’t hate it.”_

_A light scoff. “As well you_ shouldn’t _. It’s quite the family name, thank you very much; it’s been around since before… well,_ you _. A long, noble line of soldiers, blacksmiths, pirates, everymen and a witch or two, if the stories are to be believed.”_

_“I believe them,” Loki replies, trailing his mouth to her neck. “Enthralled me, didn’t you? Magic rides the blood; no wonder I caved so easily. I had no chance against such a powerful scion.”_

_“We’ll go with that.” She laughs, tilting her head back to give him more room to work and lacing her fingers in his hair. “What does a scion need to do to get some breakfast around here, anyway?”_

_“Wake before noon?” he offers helpfully, and she thumps a pillow onto his head with her free hand. He retaliates. She goes in for the kill. They land in a tangle of limbs on the floor; Loki pulls her in for a kiss, deep and slow. She responds, then leans away as her stomach growls. Rolling them both so their positions are reversed, Loki nuzzles downward, finally brushing his lips along the warm, velvet skin of her abdomen._

_“Killjoy,” he grouses at it before pushing himself to his knees and helping her up. She merely gives a slightly embarrassed but somehow unapologetic shrug as she gains her feet. “The heart wants what it wants,” she says, drawing a finger down his chest, “but alas, sometimes you can’t hear it over the more vocal bits.”_

_He spins her carefully, pointing her toward the kitchen. “Then follow your heart, love. I’ll be there in just a bit; I’m going to get cleaned up, and then I’ll join you. Afterward, while you’re taking your turn, I’ll get a pack or two ready for a bit of exploration. There are some places I’d love to show you, and there’s one spot where the sunsets are magnificent. Since we’re here, I think it would be a shame to miss it.”_

_Aeslin leans back against him for a brief moment, wrapping his arms around her body. “Sounds wonderful,” she tells him._

_Later, while she is finishing her preparations, Loki digs into the chest carrying the blanket once more. As he suspected, Frigga has enclosed a carefully written sheet of vellum that contains the required Words._ Just in case _, the note attached reads._

 _He does not need the reminder. Loki has taught the Words to others on numerous occasions, both noble and otherwise, when Frigga was not available. He learned them himself as a much younger man, forward and backward in the hope that one day he and Signe might speak them to each other. It is a kindness that they did not go through with it; the boy had been in love, but the man cannot fathom an eternity with anyone besides Aeslin. The thought makes him smile._ Wait _, he wants to tell his younger self, the one locked in his room with an ache in his heart and cold, silent tears on his face._ Just you wait and see.

_He tucks the note into his pack in any case; the idea that his mother believes that he may have forgotten Words all but burned on his skin is oddly comforting to him, and for all he knows, the ability to form coherent thought may well desert him when the time comes. It’s not as though it hasn’t happened before. A faint prickle starts at the base of his spine, and he wills it away. Everything in its time._

_Loki does, however, take a moment to bolster the walls around Odin’s spell; they have been holding remarkably well, but with the celebration and the late morning, he has forgotten to reinforce them. The magic curls deep inside him, sullen and dark and familiar, but it is easily overlooked once his shields are firmly in place._

_He finishes packing the small satchel that Parker continues to refer to as his Bag of Holding (though the boy_ technically _isn’t wrong) just as Aeslin comes bounding from their rooms, boots laced and hair braided in anticipation of their hike. A final glance around to make sure everything’s settled, and then they are on their way. Aeslin takes a few steps out of the lodge and then turns around to survey the tiny, weatherbeaten building with her hands on her hips. A smile breaks across her face as she shakes her head. “Bigger on the inside, indeed. The Doctor would be proud,” she tells him, and Loki grins back._

_“Where do you think he got the idea?”_

_They wander together through the woods surrounding the cottage, along game trails that spiderweb across low hills and past rills that stream merrily through the rocks and underbrush. He teaches her the Words as they ramble, expanding the conversation he begun all those months ago in the duty locker aboard the helicarrier. It is not a call and response; both approach the magic as equals. She picks it up quickly, and he only has to correct her pronunciation a few times before she has it. Aeslin then moves on to asking questions about the magic itself. Loki smiles at that. Always the scientist._

_“It’s different from other spells in that anyone can use it, if taught properly,” he answers as he unstops the carafe he pulls from his bag and offers it to her. “Latent magic or no; it’s built in. That’s the whole point of the_ teppi _: love is love, regardless of station or ability. It will do the work for you.”_

_“Whereas other spells…” she trails off before drinking deeply of the clear, refreshing cordial._

_“All spells need the same basic things.” He takes the drink when she offers it back to him, finishing off the flask’s contents before using a flicker of_ seidr _to refill it for later. “Latent magic ability, however small. A target. Intention.”_

_“That’s it?”_

_A shrug as they continue up the trail to the observation point Loki and Thor have visited thousands of times over the years. “That’s it. Like anything, there are levels of difficulty, but the concept is still the same.” He rests his palm on a towering old-growth tree with a well-healed lichtenberg scar. “Such as this poor fellow. Thor was learning to control lightning; I was trying to help him, and we’re lucky we both survived. Latent power. A target. Too much intention, as it turned out, but at least the tree pulled through. Took over a year before I was sure it would. This was before Mjolnir; she acts as a focus for him, though I suspect at some point, he’ll find that he doesn’t actually_ need _her. She’ll just be a tool. A powerful one, to be sure, but just another weapon. Like your powers. A target. Intention. You just don’t need to speak the Words; they’re written on your very bones. You’re much like Thor in that regard.”_

 _She runs delicate fingers along one of the smooth, white lines on the tree’s trunk. “So you could teach me to say, turn_ my _hair purple?”_

_Loki laughs. “I can teach you to turn it any color you’d like. It’s quite simple to do. We’ve just been so worried about the big things like controlling your powers that we’ve neglected the little things. It’d be fun.”_

_They reach the sheltered overlook in the late afternoon, and in the time that they have before the sun sets, Loki sets about teaching Aeslin her first official spell. He has learned through their time together, especially in London, that while Aeslin is an exceptionally patient teacher, she is the single most_ im _patient student he has ever encountered. She holds herself to too high a standard; Bruce has told him as much, and the poor doctor would know. He and Coulson spent weeks trying to calm Aeslin, doing what they could to help her with her powers and unknowingly laying firm groundwork for the Queen of Asgard’s later attempts. Loki has seen it himself, but he has learned how her mind works and knows how best to respond._

_Her first several attempts are hilariously unsuccessful, but she refuses to give up. Instead, she flops backward onto a patch of soft grass, staring at clouds that are just beginning to tinge golden and red with the sunset. She taps a finger on her stomach as she thinks, and he merely sits next to her in silence, leaning back on his hands while watching a flock of starlings begin their evening hunt. After a long, thoughtful moment, she sits up and exhales a slow, gentle breath. Brushing a bit of grass from her now-unbound hair, she slowly curls a tendril around her index finger, face intent. As her hand slides downward, Loki watches the hair change from auburn-tinged brown to a deep, iridescent purple. Their faces break into matching smiles, and then she reaches forward carefully and does the same to one of the loose strands that has escaped his ponytail. He feels magic shifting around him, but it is the look on her face that confirms it. Content with her success for the moment, she sits happily next to him as the sun falls below the horizon, bathing the world in a riot of colors._

_The walk back is quicker, lit by the orb that glows just off Loki’s right shoulder as he leads the way home. She keeps her hand in his as they go, stopping him every now and again for a kiss or caress. She teases and beguiles so perfectly that by the time they reach the lodge’s front door, Loki is half-ready to use their wedding quilt as a makeshift tablecloth to shave precious seconds off the time it will take them to get set up in the bedroom._

_She kicks off her boots and socks the moment the door closes; he does the same and respectfully but impatiently takes the blanket from its chest. Loki wakes the fire once more, then unfurls the_ teppi _in one smooth motion and arranges it on the floor before the bedroom’s long stone fireplace. She looks at him askance._

 _“Nothing for it,” he grins. “Rule 42_ _is still in force, as I recall.” At her look, he grins, tilting his head toward the dark, shimmering surface. “Go on; try it out.”_

_Brow still raised, Aeslin steps onto the soft surface and sinks just a bit. She steps off again, lifting a corner with a bare foot to confirm that there is still, in fact, wooden planks making up the floor beneath. Shaking her head, she laughs a little as she hops back on, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. “This is its own mattress? You people don’t mess around when it comes to these sorts of things, do you?”_

_“It’s funny,” he answers her with a wink. “It’s_ almost _like we know what we’re doing.”_

 _“Almost,” she replies, beckoning him toward her with a wolfish smile; without hesitation, he steps forward and takes her hand as_ seidr _explodes to life around them._

_It is like nothing he has ever experienced, nothing for which he could ever have prepared, and during one of the few moments in the time that passes when he is able to put two words together, he is stupidly grateful that his mother thought to write things down._

_Every sense is heightened, every inch of his body aware of how he feels, how_ she _feels, a connection beyond anything in his wildest hopes. His heartbeat is hers; the pulse beneath her jaw is his. He tastes the salt on her skin, hears her name from his own lips and feels her gasp flutter through his own lungs as she arches against his mouth and hands. Loki realizes in that moment that he is feeling what she does when she hears him speak her name, what she feels when he touches her; the wonder in her face as she cradles his head with a trembling hand shows that she recognizes it, too. He cannot help but bend to her again, worshiping her with lips and hands and tongue, knowing now how ecstasy sings through her. She is more than willing to return the gift. Her touch calls to him, calls fire from his veins, and he answers in the only way he can, crying her name against her skin as he loses himself inside her. She is there to catch him, as she always is. They move in perfect rhythm, her fingers tangling in the curls at his neck while her legs wrap around him._

 _They lay twined together for long moments afterward, until he feels strong enough to reach a shaky hand to the pack he’s fortuitously left on the bed. A moment of scrabbling, and he extracts the instructions. Loki pulls the blanket around them as he shifts to his side; she pillows her head on his arm as she snuggles against him, legs over his. Magic still surges through both of them like a flood tide; it is more than a little disorienting, and each has to use the sheet of vellum more than once for reference. When the last Words are spoken, Loki feels the_ seidr _above them twisting and warping like gentle lightning before settling deep into his bones. Its power lingers in the air, heady as winter mead and twice as strong, but it is already fading to a slightly more manageable level. He is simultaneously drained and strangely energized, and he strokes his fingers slowly along her spine._

_“I can feel it.” Her voice is soft against his bicep. “What he did to you. I can feel it now. Does it hurt like that all the time?”_

_“Not always. Just some days.” He can think of nothing else to say, nothing else that will make it better, but he kisses her forehead just the same. “It’s probably worse right now because of all the_ seidr _. I’m sorry.”_

_“Don’t be.” Her fingers unerringly graze the spot just below his ribs where the spell rests, and she soothes it gently with a thumb. “I promised I would help you carry it. Let me.”_

_“I promise.”_

_“I love you.”_

_He runs his hand up her jaw, twisting the still-purple curl around his finger. “I love you.”_

_She smiles at that, then turns in his arms, snuggling back against his chest. Firelight pools on her skin. He molds his body to hers, kissing her shoulder gently and tucking the blanket a little tighter against any chill. She is asleep almost instantly; he feels her head grow heavy on his arm. He watches the flames for a moment, unconsciously matching his breaths to hers. A deep, shuddering sigh goes through her, and he feels a wave of peace. Of relief. Of absolute contentment. A feeling that perhaps, at last, he has done enough. That this time, it will be different._

_A long, quiet time passes before Loki realizes that the feeling does not belong to him._

_It is hers._

_***_

Parker strolled through the marketplace; it was near the end of the festival, and many of the merchants would be packing up over the next few days. There was to be a fireworks display that night to mark the end of Mabon, and he was on the search for party snacks and whatever passed for a commemorative t-shirt on this planet. He was idly thumbing through a rack of baldrics and chatting with the artisan when he sensed someone approaching. He glanced up to see Ragnborg nearby; she nodded at him as she approached the same stand, looking through a table full of wares in a distracted sort of way.

“I suppose you think you’re smart,” she said to an ornamental spoon with a gaily carved handle.

“No,” he replied without rancor as he casually inspected the buckles on a leather jerkin. “I don’t _think_ so.” The implication was clear. _I_ know _so._ A tiny smile twitched at the edge of the librarian’s mouth as she ran her fingers appreciatively over a soft shawl.

“Do you have one in red?” she asked the shopkeeper. “Perhaps yellow? Something cheerful for the winter.”

The young man ducked behind the counter, reappearing with several more. After choosing a russet orange one and another in a clean, bright blue, she passed over some coins and thanked him. When asked if she wanted them delivered, the librarian shook her head. “Thank you, but no. I’ll just carry them. Blessed Mabon to you.”

She turned to Parker without missing a beat, handing him the scarves and another pouch, heavy with books and scrolls. “By which I mean _you’ll_ carry them.” She linked her arm through his, the smirk still hovering on her lips. “Walk with me, boy.”

***

_He taps his lip with a playing piece, studying the pattern of dice and runes on the table. With very few viable options, he drops it into the space that will cause the least damage with a sigh. She hums thoughtfully as she calculates, her bare foot in his lap._

_“Sixty-five to me,” she announces, “and ten from you. That_ would _be the game, unless…” she lets her voice trail off suggestively, and he briefly massages her instep._

_“Unless…?” he draws out the last syllable, fingers moving higher._

_“It would be a_ rather _abrupt end to things, and we’ve really just gotten started,” comes her reply. “I might be willing to negotiate.”_

_His lip twitches. “And your offer, little siren?”_

_She stretches languidly as she considers. “Forty,” she proposes, then gestures to his tunic. “And your shirt.”_

_Leaning back, he studies her with narrowed eyes, hand still stroking her leg. “Thirty,” he counters. “I’ll make it worth your while.”_

_“And how might you do that?”_

_A grin. “Can’t tip my hand this early in the negotiations, love. You’ll just have to use your imagination. I’ll go as high as thirty-five. Final offer, or I take the loss and keep the shirt, and I’m pretty sure that means we_ both _lose in the lon-”_

_The knock at the kitchen door startles them both. Aeslin drops her feet to the floor, magic already gathering on her fingertips. He shakes his head but allows her a clear line of sight as he goes to answer._

_“I’m sorry,” Thor says as soon as the door opens. He looks past Loki to Aeslin, abject apology in his face as he meets her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t have come, but I had no choice. I didn’t want anyone else to find out about this place, and my news is too important to trust to a simple messenger, in any case.”_

Seidr _banished once more, Aeslin comes to stand next to Loki._

_“It’s all right." The line between her brows belies the calm in her voice. “I forgive you, but what is it? What’s happened?”_

_His brother glances between the two of them, jaw tight. “Word has come. Helblindi wants to talk.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Rule 42: No powers in the sack.)
> 
> Lyric from I Will Follow You Into The Dark by Death Cab for Cutie.
> 
> Teppi: Icelandic for blanket. Literally. XD
> 
> Lichtenberg scars are created by electricity. They look like branches of lightning. 
> 
> Feedcrack appreciated, as always. Thanks for being here! Love you all! <3


	33. Chapter 33

Parker rested his hand on the page in front of him as he carefully scribbled notes onto a sheet of parchment. He copied names, dates and details as accurately as he could. Some of the runes and letters made absolutely no sense on their own, but Ragnborg or Fandral would help him with the trickier translations. He rested the stylus against his lower lip as he continued reading, tracing one finger beneath the words as though he was back in preschool. It was going more slowly than he would have liked, but he was grateful for the chance. He was still in shock, really, and had been since Ragnborg had snagged him in the marketplace. After halfheartedly berating him on his choice of music during the wedding feast, smothering her laughter as best she could, she’d offered him the chance of a lifetime. Access to the histories. The _real_ histories, with a capital H, no adjustments or omissions.

It had been an overwhelming prospect at first; he’d stood in the middle of the room with his mouth open for a long, embarrassing time, surrounded by a scaffolding of shelves that soared to the ceiling above. “I could die in this room,” he’d finally managed.

“Probably of boredom before anything,” she’d scoffed in return, threading her way around a table as she reached into a pouch at her hip and pulled a gleaming crystal free. “This will help. Just ask it what you want to find, and it will light the way. You’ll need to do the retrieving yourself.” She’d handed him the stone; it covered his palm and most of his fingers. “Take as many notes as you want. Copy whole pages if it suits you; nothing leaves this room, and you leave when I say it’s time to go. Do we have a bargain?”

He’d agreed without question, and he was now well into his fourth day in the Ossuary, as the librarian called it. Midway through cross-referencing what appeared to be council notes from millennia before, Parker heard the scuff of a set of footprints that was fast becoming recognizable. He looked up with alarm as Ragnborg approached the table.

"It's not time yet, is it?" He glanced around in a bit of a panic, though he knew full well there was nothing even close to a clock in the room. He hadn't seen a single timepiece during his entire time on Asgard; it was as though everyone just knew. "I thought I had at least a few more hours."

"On a normal day," she replied, a thoughtful sort of look on her face, "but this doesn't seem to be one of them. You've been summoned to council." At his vaguely stricken look, she smiled encouragingly. "Leave everything as you have it. I'll see that it's not disturbed. We need to be quick, though; it seemed fairly urgent.” A gentle smirk as Parker made a last notation and then hopped to his feet, following her from the room with only a single, mournful look back. They reached the main atrium in less time than Parker expected, and he absently wondered if the librarian had tweaked a few portals of her own to speed the way. A page wearing Odin’s livery stood near the entrance, shifting from one foot to the other; with a nod to Ragnborg and a kind smile toward the boy, Parker allowed the messenger to lead him away.

The guide set a rapid pace, with Parker occasionally jogging to keep up. The other looked at him as they mounted the steps leading toward the upper levels, and to Odin’s council chamber.

“My apologies,” he said, “but I was told to make haste, and you’re among the last to be gathered.”

Parker shook his head. “No worries,” he replied with an easy grin. “I need the workout, and you’re just doing what you were asked.”

A grateful look as they entered the anteroom; the page pushed open the doors to the main chamber as he announced Parker, then softly closed the door. Parker took stock of those gathered, stopping dead when his eye fell on the figure standing near the window. Loki had turned at the messenger’s voice, and he gave Parker a wry smile. The biologist raised a brow as he found his slightly-too-tall chair and received a slight lift of the shoulders in return. Neither was able to speak, however, before the inner door opened and Odin strode into the room. The other council members came to their feet; the All-Father gestured distractedly for those gathered to be seated. Most did immediately, Thor to his father’s right. After a barely perceptible hesitation, Loki took the chair to Odin’s left, the one that had been pointedly empty for the entirety of Parker’s brief tenure as Midgard’s representative. Loki ignored the glances he received, settling back a little in his chair, and Odin began the meeting.

***

Loki did his best to keep from fidgeting while Odin spoke. The chair felt wrong, somehow; he hadn’t been in it since well before his fall from the bridge, and the pressure of the poorly-hidden looks in his direction did nothing to help the unsettled feeling in his bones. He ached to be back in the cottage with Aeslin, to be away from everything for just a little while longer. Instead, he focused his attention on the All-Father.

Odin was speaking of Helblindi’s request to reopen negotiations after their abrupt cessation. It was no longer feasible to hold them on Jotunheim, given the lack of infrastructure, and so the Jotun ruler had offered to meet on neutral ground. Svartalfheim to begin with, and then once they’d worked out further details, there was a chance that the talks would be moved elsewhere. Helblindi had requested that there not be a full contingent, since they were merely trying to restart existing negotiations. Odin would go, accompanied by both of his sons and a small company of Einherjar. A ripple of surprise at the news went through those gathered; it was highly irregular, but not completely unprecedented. Loki remained unruffled but met his brother’s eyes across the wide table. They had discussed a similar scenario on their way to the meeting. It was not an ideal situation, but it was the best option out of several poor ones.

There was little actual work for the council to do. Odin allowed very few questions and gave fewer answers, and Loki found himself wondering why _he_ was relegated to being the god of lies when the true master stood before them in all his ancient, royal glory. Half-truths, omissions and breathtakingly vague information flowed from the All-Father’s lips like molten gold. Odin’s dissembling was necessary, though, and Loki knew it. There was too much risk. The peace was too tenuous, the threads too fragile both within and beyond Asgard. Tug the wrong one, and the whole mess would come crashing down. Loki kept his expression interested yet neutral, letting the rest of the council know that he felt the gravity of the situation and would support the All-Father. It was no lie. Loki understood the truth far better than most, if not all the others in the room, and he would hold up his end of the crumbling scaffold just as long as he needed to.

Finished with his announcement and what passed for an explanation, Odin summarily dismissed the council. Most in the room left with a vaguely discomfited air; Sif alone remained, arms folded and face dark. She came to her feet as Odin stood, clearly intent on haranguing the All-Father into allowing her to accompany them to Svartalfheim. Odin glanced over at her, a mix of resignation and irritation in his face, and Loki chose that moment to strike. He smoothly intercepted Odin on his way toward the inner chamber, aiming a benign smile at Sif in response to the daggers she was glaring at him. Reaching out, he tried to touch the All-Father’s arm to solidify his attention but found that he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Odin turned regardless, and Loki steeled himself.

“I need to talk to you,” he told him without preamble.

“Can it wait?” Odin’s tone was perfunctory at best.

A flash of anger pricked at Loki; it flared out almost immediately, replaced by the memory of Aeslin curled in his arms as firelight played on her skin.

_Any price._

Loki’s jaw tightened a little, but he kept his voice even.

“Yes,” he admitted after a slight pause. “Not for long, I think, but you’d know _far_ more about that than I would.”

Odin stopped. His eye flicked almost imperceptibly to Sif before settling on Loki once more, and there was a strangely thoughtful look on his face.

“After the parley, then.”

It took Loki a moment to realize that it hadn’t been a statement. It had been a question, and Odin was looking at him expectantly.

Waiting for an answer.

 _Waiting_.

Loki blinked.

“Yes,” he managed again, feeling as though the ground beneath him was dissolving just enough to throw him off balance. Odin nodded in acknowledgement, then turned away toward the inner chamber. Sif ignored Loki completely as she all but bolted after the All-Father. Loki shook his head bemusedly, then hurried from the room in order to catch up with the others.

***

_The party crosses the bridge that spindles over the bay and leads toward the Observatory. Little pageantry accompanies them; though the All-Father’s errand is no secret this time around, it is telling that few seem to believe it important enough to wish him and his sons safe travels. Even the Einherjar chat amongst themselves as they walk behind Odin and Frigga, low enough that they cannot be heard over the wind that occasionally whips around them. They are a different group than those who accompanied Odin and Frigga the first time; Helblindi was clear that Odin be the only one to return. A few of the Einherjar even wear Thor’s livery, though his brother would be hard-pressed to identify them by name. He has neither needed nor wanted his own cadre of guards and avoids using them whenever possible. His reluctance is legendary, and those who wish an easy job have historically been keen to join the Thunderer’s elite ranks._

_Loki and his companions trail the Einherjar which follow Odin and Frigga; they are effectively boxed in by the guards behind them. The noise is enough that there is no need to muffle their conversation, but Loki has done so out of long habit._

_“I just wish Frigga was going,” Aeslin is saying to his brother. “No offense.”_

_Thor’s shrug is light, his cloak curling around his legs as he sets a deliberate pace that will allow the two Midgardians to keep up without having to jog. “None taken, but there’s not much for it. Frigga saw the devastation firsthand. She knew that Loki lived, and she lied about it across the negotiating table. That’s not something you come back from easily. Not where the Jotun are concerned.”_

_Her voice is thoughtful. “You knew.”_

_“Yes, well. I’m an idiot whose skills involve swinging a hammer, showing up where he’s not wanted, and not much else. I’m no threat.”_

_“You’re not an idiot.” She bumps into him gently with her shoulder; he does not even break stride as he nudges back._

_“You say that_ now. _” He grins down at her, but the smile fades almost as soon as it has come. “With any luck, Helblindi still believes it. I have a feeling we’ll need every edge we can get. I have little true skill at diplomacy, and I doubt that Loki’s words will count for much.”_

_“Provided I’m even allowed to speak,” Loki chimes in._

_She looks up at him then, and though she does not lower her voice, the question behind her words is for Loki alone._

_“He’s not going to bind you, is he? Muzzle you?” A memory of too many sleepless nights and whispered confessions flashes across her face. He gives her a reassuring smile, the best he can muster in order to soothe away the line between her brows._

_“Like you’d let him.” He does not specify whether he means Helblindi or the All-Father._

_“Which would be much easier if I were coming, too,” she replies meaningfully as they step into the soaring Observatory. It is a discussion that they have already had, and although they both know she has been barred from these initial talks for good reason, neither is happy about it._

_“You’ll get your turn, I’m sure.” The rest of the thought is left unspoken; she carries Jotun blood on her hands, as does Parker, and there is no point in pretending that they will not be called to answer for their crimes, as well. The idea of either of them before a tribunal makes Loki’s stomach twist, and he shoves down the image as rapidly as possible. One crisis at a time, she’s told him more times than he can count. The words give him an odd sort of hope._

_Odin steps up to the Guardian almost immediately; they confer quietly for a moment or two before the All-Father steps away, face pensive. Loki accompanies Aeslin to the area in which one of Frigga’s braziers has been set up. Cool golden flames flicker lazily within the heavy stone bowl; he passes his hand idly through them as he walks by out of long habit. Sparks laden with magic leap merrily along his fingers before spiraling upward. It is a compromise, the best they have on such short notice. There will be no communication after they leave the Observatory; with every effort being made to keep the talks as transparent as possible, at least under the circumstances, it will not do to have any hint of interference._

_After a brief bow to his mother, Thor goes to join Odin and his guards near the mouth of the Bifrost. He glances at Loki expectantly, and, unable to put it off any longer, Loki nods. A brief touch to Aeslin’s jaw, followed by a kiss that ends far too soon._

_“I’ll be back before you know it,” he tells her._

_“You’d better.”_

_A faint smile to his mother and to Parker as Heimdall begins to call forth the Bifrost. Loki comes forward to stand next to his brother, refusing to look back, and they are drawn forth together into the light._

_***_

The Bridge touched down only briefly, vanishing again before Loki had even gotten his bearings. They stood on a small plateau at the edge of a sweeping valley on Svartalfheim. Dark sand stretched in every direction, covered here and there with scrub and low grasses. The wind moaned softly around them, adding to the feeling of desolation. It seemed odd that Helblindi would choose this site, of all places. The realm where Odin’s father had all but wiped out the dark elves, leaving the few that remained scattered and rootless. Where Odin’s father had scorched the very earth as a warning to those who would come after, leaving a wasteland still struggling to reclaim its former state nearly three millennia later.

Perhaps, Loki allowed, it was just the place, after all.

He followed Odin down the scree, placing his boots carefully. It wasn’t far to the designated meeting place, and they saw the large, open pavillion within moments. It seemed deserted; no banners had yet been placed to announce the Jotun’s arrival. Another small but significant slight. It was clear that Helblindi was calling the shots, even now, and Loki wondered why Odin was so willing to play his game. A glance at his brother showed the same concern in Thor’s face, but the blond merely shrugged in response to Loki’s raised brow as they came to a halt several meters away from the tent, the clean, white fabric standing in stark contrast to the dullness around them.

“Loki.” Odin’s voice broke the stillness. “A look around, if you would be so kind.”

“Of course,” Loki replied automatically. It had been his task for centuries, and apparently today would be no exception, even given their recent history. It appeared that Odin was showing at bit of wisdom at last. Loki crossed the few steps between them and held out a hand. “If I may?”

Odin stared at Loki’s outstretched palm for the barest of moments, and Loki found himself talking to fill the silence. “It’s just that we don’t know how long we have, and if you want this done quickly _and_ well...”

The All-Father blinked, snapping out of a troubled sort of daze. “Oh. Yes. Of course.” He handed Gungnir to Loki, who gave a tiny bow as he took it.

“My thanks.” Loki strode forward several feet, then used the butt of the spear to trace a large circle in the dust. It was followed by another, smaller one that just touched the first. He pulled _seidr_ from and through the spear as he went; the lines pulsed with power. He added symbols, his movements quick and precise, then returned Gungnir to Odin with a distracted nod of thanks and without a whisper of hesitation. He felt the All-Father’s gaze linger on his back, but Loki ignored it as he stepped gingerly into the main circle.

Shaking out his hands and shoulders to loosen them, Loki closed his eyes and bent his head as he let out a long breath. His senses heightened by the _seidr_ flowing around him, he stood for a moment before opening himself completely. Scents mingled in the air; colors blazed beneath the surface, bright and disorienting. And the noise. The _noise -_

He sighed in irritation, the sound echoing in his head. “You know,” he called over his shoulder to the men behind him, “this is hard enough without the pair of you nattering on like fishwives on market day. Do you _mind_?”

They looked up from their hushed conversation, both clearly startled, and immediately went quiet.

“Thank you,” Loki said coolly, keeping a straight face with some effort at the matching chagrined expressions on their faces. “Gods,” he continued as he turned away and focused once more. “You two are the absolute _worst_.”

A quickly-stifled snort from his brother, and Loki allowed the flash of a smile to cross his lips as Odin hushed his favorite son. Once it was relatively silent again, Loki cast upward and outward. At last, he found a tiny, sentient speck in the cacophony around him, and he ever so gently nudged his way into the edge of the creature’s consciousness.

It was a black-tipped shrike, small, vicious, and infinitely curious about the new presence that shadowed its mind. A brief moment of consideration, and then the bird surrendered, if a bit reluctantly.

 _Loki’s eyes jolt open, now the deep brown of the shrike’s and ringed with the gold of Sight. The transition is jarring, almost violent, and it is a long moment before Loki can regain control. The bird’s wings are his; its sight is vivid and clear, and the wind that streaks past its face brings tears to Loki’s eyes. Knowing how easy it would be to lose himself, especially as long as it has been since he’s attempted this, Loki forces himself to concentrate, feeling the bird’s thoughts fluttering at the back of his mind. They bank and soar, covering ground rapidly. Loki reaches out a hand, and_ seidr _flashes eagerly into the smaller circle he’s scribed in the dirt, mimicking what he and the shrike are seeing._

_A small contingent approaches, still hidden behind a low ridge along the eastern edge of the valley before him. The bird does not recognize them, having spent its life in the wilds of Svartalfheim, but Loki does. A company of Jotun, making their way leisurely across the wasteland. The king. A woman. A handful or two of soldiers: Helblindi’s guard. Behind them comes another, and even with the heavy cloak and hood to keep the chill at bay, he is easily recognizable._

He burns _, the bird whispers in a sort of dread, and at the same moment, Loki’s keen hearing catches Thor’s reverent voice._

_“Surtr.”_

_There are other, smaller figures, but the bird is fast beginning to lose both interest and patience._ Hungry _, it says, and Loki cajoles it, presses it gently to stay a little longer. It cannot; it has been too long since it has fed, and it can hear the skitter of prey in the sand. Its thoughts are full of blood and need, and Loki shakes his head to dismiss the blooming visions. They are far too familiar. Too close. He feels what might be another breath at his neck, memory sharp and cold as talons. He fights to breathe, to focus; as the bird dives toward earth, he flings himself free at the last second with a strangled cry, stumbling as he comes back to himself. The image in the smaller circle winks out._

 _Senses still on fire, he swears viciously and yanks his arm away from the hand that tries to steady him. His eyes remain screwed shut against the world that spins beneath him. Fear and confusion fade as_ seidr _disperses, and finally he can breathe once more. He opens his eyes, thinking to apologize to his brother. Except it is not Thor that crouches next to him in the dust, concern etched on his brow._

_It is Odin._

_***_

Loki ran a hand though his hair as he scuffed through his symbols, smoothing the sand behind him with a bit of magic. It effectively removed any trace of what he’d done, and he took enough time to do both a thorough job of destruction and to gather himself. Odin had said nothing to Loki after pulling him to his feet; he had merely nodded and then ordered his Einherjar to prepare the pavillion. He now stood between the two banners of his House, the heavy fabric snapping in the wind. Thor joined him after a glance at Loki, folding his arms as he stood half a step behind his father. The Einherjar took up positions behind Odin, weapons sheathed and faces stern.

Loki had barely finished his work when a horn sounded; the single, pure note heralded Helblindi’s arrival. Flicking the last of the dust from his boots with a wisp of _seidr_ , he walked to his accustomed place, a pace to the side of Thor and just behind Odin’s left shoulder. He clasped his hands behind his back, pretended he wasn’t doing so just to keep them occupied, and waited.

***

“Has Stark talked to you about powering his perpetual motion machine?” Parker’s voice echoed lightly in the Observatory, and Aeslin stopped pacing long enough to glare at him. He returned the look, completely unfazed as he waited for an answer; she sighed and dropped down next to him on one of the steps leading to Heimdall’s dais. A tiny, reassuring smile flickered across the Guardian’s face as she sat, and she gave him a a slightly abashed look in return. She remained unable to sit still, however, bouncing one leg without realizing it as she watched Frigga’s brazier closely. It remained centered on the pavillion, and as a new set of figures came into view, Aeslin popped up once more. Parker was close on her heels.

The flames in the brazier were low; sight and sound carried perfectly. One of the Jotun stepped forward, voice clear and ringing.

“I am Blodgada Ransdottir, First Lieutenant of Helblindi, son of Laufey and King of Jotunheim, in whose presence you stand. With us come our allies.” She inclined her head to those standing behind her. “Surtr, King of Muspelheim, and Brokkr, Speaker for the Dwarves.”

Parker’s brow knit. “Blodgada,” he said, nearly to himself. “Blodgada. How do I know that name?”

Frigga stood nearby, hands clasped serenely in front of her; Aeslin wasn’t sure she had heard Parker until she spoke without taking her eyes off the scene before her. “Tell me, Parker. Have you happened across the Battle of Karnsa in your research yet?”

There was a brief silence. “Oh. _Oh_.” Parker blanched a little. “That’s her?”

“The very same.”

“Ah.” Another beat. “Well, shi-”

“ _Hush_ , please. I need to listen.”

Aeslin looked at Parker, worry in her face.

“I’ll fill you in later,” he murmured, watching Frigga for a reaction. When there wasn’t one, he continued. “It’s just… from what I understand she’s a _legend_. Honor. Devotion to king and duty. This could be a good thing, or it could be very, _very_ bad.”

“Is that meant to be en _cour_ aging?” Aeslin hissed back in a slightly agonized whisper. “Because I’ll tell you right now-” She broke off when Heimdall cleared his throat meaningfully, and they quieted immediately. Parker gave her a wordless, sympathetic look as he scooted even closer and took her hand; the gesture was meant to comfort both of them, and he felt her answering squeeze as she turned back to the brazier.

***

Helblindi sauntered forward, coming to a halt a few feet in front of the rest of his party. Odin stood straight and tall before him; even so, he was dwarfed by the Jotun, who made no move to sit at the table nearby.

“Odin Borson,” he said after a long moment. “I wasn’t sure you’d show your face again, not after the way you fled Jotunheim when my brother was… called away on more important business.” His eyes flicked to Loki, then back to Odin. “So, Father of Almost-All. Is this truly the Traitor? Or is it another of your tricks? Your illusions?” A tiny smirk touched the edges of his lips. “Shall we test him? See if he bleeds? He certainly did _last_ time we met.”

“It is Loki,” Odin replied simply, “as you requested. I have acted in good faith in bringing him here, and I would ask that you do the same. He deserves a place at these proceedings and should be allowed to speak for himself.”

“Proceedings.” Helblindi chuckled, dropping languidly into the chair that had been set up for him. “Pro _ceed_ ings. Is that what you think this is? That we’re going to reopen talks as though nothing’s happened?” He shook his head, his smile kind and patient. “Oh, All-Father. That hope vanished along with my brother, cast to the winds on Midgard’s shores.” He settled back, calmly surveying the Asgardians standing before him. “Negotiate? No, son of Bor. We’re here to discuss your surrender.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little shorter than I'd like, but it was a good break before what's coming next. :) Stay tuned! Feedcrack appreciated as always. Thanks for sticking with me. Love you all! <3


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I had a dream last night  
>  The world was set on fire  
> And everywhere I ran  
> There wasn't any water  
> The temperature increased  
> The sky was crimson red  
> The clouds turned into smoke  
> And everyone was dead_
> 
> _And just when I think  
>  That things are in their place  
> The heavens are secure  
> The whole thing explodes in my face_

The valley was silent save for the wind that howled mournfully through the surrounding scrub.

“Surrender.” Odin’s voice was flat in the quiet.

“Surely you’ve heard the word before. Or perhaps you’ve only spoken it? Does it sound different that way?”

“We are not at war,” Odin replied simply.

Helblindi’s patient smile didn’t waver. “Aren’t we.” Without allowing Odin to respond, Helblindi leaned forward and continued. “Is it that you find the word distasteful? The gods only know that _we_ do, but a spark remains a spark, regardless of whose funeral pyre it lights. No use in calling it anything different.” He settled back once more, relaxed and lethal as a panther. “Since the semantics seem to be troubling you, however, just think of it as a matter of timing. You meet our demands, and by doing so, you prevent a war entirely. Odin the Wise. Odin the Peacemaker. Quite a change, but it’s a far sight better than what some already call you.”

Odin didn’t rise to the bait; instead, he remained standing calmly before the Jotun with one hand on Gungnir. “Then name your terms.”

“The Traitor,” came Helblindi’s smooth reply, “for a start.”

The words were expected, but they still struck Loki like a physical blow. He kept his face impassive as he instinctively steeled himself for the answer that was sure to follow.

“No.”

There was a slight shuffling among the Jotun party, but to Loki, none of them seemed the least bit shocked. Curious, perhaps, but nothing more. Helblindi himself merely settled back in his chair, face calm.

“No?” he asked, though it was clear he’d heard perfectly.

“No,” Odin repeated firmly. “I am not giving you my son.”

 _Not_ the boy _. Not Loki. My_ son _._

The phrase burrowed hopefully into Loki’s brain; he shoved it aside, careful not to betray himself.

Helblindi gave a casual shrug, then stood. “Very well, All-Father. Be it on your head.”

_\-  “What will it be, son of nobody-in-particular? Judge? Jury? Executioner? Or a bit of all three?”_

_“Loki. Just Loki. That will be enough.”_

_“If you say so.” -_

The memory tickled, incomplete and maddening, but he clung to what it might mean as he took a step forward, brushing past Odin.

“ _Wait_.” He dodged the hand that the All-Father subtly put out to stop him out of long practice, and Odin made no further move. “Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”

Helblindi stopped and turned back, drawing himself up to his full height. He studied Loki, who met his gaze with jaw set. “I’d wondered if it was really you,” Helblindi smirked after a long moment, “but now that you’ve opened your mouth, there really _can’t_ be any doubt, can there?”

Loki ignored the jibe. “If I go with you willingly,” he began, knowing full well that if Helblindi didn’t murder him outright after what he was about to say, Aeslin was going to the second she saw him again, “what then? Blood for blood, and it’s done?”

The air cooled noticeably; Loki’s breath came in a faint cloud.

“Oh,” said Helblindi, not unkindly, “I won’t kill you. Not at first. I’ll make you wait. Watch. First your mother. Then your father.” His voice lowered to a hiss; it was as though everyone else had vanished, and only Helblindi and Loki stood on the blasted plains. “Your brother.” He gestured to his side, where a scar was clearly visible. “Your friend. Your _whore_. Your golden city will come to ruin. I will wade through the blood of a thousand thousand of your people to reclaim the Casket that is ours by right, and then - _only_ then - will I kill you with my own-”

He broke off as his Lieutenant took a single step forward, placing her hand on his shoulder. His eyes narrowed, and he shrugged her off as he lifted his voice again so the others could hear. “These are my terms, Odin Borson. I will accept no others. Give me the Traitor, and your death will come with honor. Resist, and you die regardless. It matters not to me.”

“And you?” Odin glanced at those still gathered at the edge of the pavillion.

Surtr shifted his weight as though uncomfortable in the cold, but he lifted his chin defiantly. “Jotunheim is not the only Realm that has suffered under Asgard’s rule.”

“Then you would join Helblindi in this war.”

Surtr remained silent, but the dwarf at his side gave a sardonic grin. “The war’s already started, old man. You’re just late to the game.”

“Brokkr speaks truth, as always,” Helblindi continued. “The House of Odin stands responsible for the death of Laufey, king of Jotunheim. You offered, and _continue_ to offer asylum to his murderer. You _also_ offer sanctuary to my brother’s killer, and to the one who attacked me. Thousands of my people died when the Bifrost struck our realm. Whole farming villages destroyed. Cities gone as though they’d never been,  and when we demanded recompense, we were given lies.” He straightened, hands behind his back. “Each of these is alone is an act of war, son of Bor, and it is past time that you answered for your crimes. So I will ask once more. The Traitor.”

“And I tell you once more. I will not give you my son.”

Helblindi brought his hands from behind him, bringing them up in a bit of a shrug. “Then we have nothing more to discuss.”

“Until we meet again.”

“Yes,” said Helblindi. “If you make it that long.”

He turned away, stopping only long enough to exchange a few words with his second-in-command. Blodgada gave a slight nod, and then Helblindi strolled back the way he had come. The others followed, save for the Lieutenant.

Odin remained silent as he waited for Blodgada, his fingers still loosely curled around Gungnir’s haft. The hair on the back of Loki’s neck began to prickle; he glanced back at Thor to see that his brother’s hand was hovering close to Mjolnir. The Einherjar remained stock still, awaiting any command from their King.

The woman finally spoke, her voice echoing across the sand.

“Vornir,” she merely said, “engage the drill.”

***

Vornir carefully threaded between the theodolites and cables set up in a well-demarcated section of the dark, massive chamber. They’d had to erect a few temporary awnings; he’d never been in a cave that had its own weather system before, but since he couldn’t even see the roof, it was hard to say exactly _what_ this place was. Malfinn had told him that it was a cavern, and since the dwarf had apparently been here before, Vornir was inclined to take his word for it. He wasn’t actually interested in the cave. He was _far_ more interested in getting out of it as soon as possible. He deliberately avoided looking toward the knot of sound and activity near the rear of the grotto as he crossed to Himinglaeva. She pushed herself from under the apparatus she’d been working on, shoving her goggles up onto her forehead as he approached.

“How’s it coming?”

She made a final adjustment on the machine that she and the other engineers had perfected in the preceding months before holding out one hand. He pulled her to her feet as she spoke. “Two stable rifts. One from… wherever we are to Svartalfheim, ready to widen as soon as we get word.” She spared a glance over her shoulder. “I just hope it will be big enough; we really haven’t been able to get a great look.” A gentle shudder ran through her. “Not that I want to. Gods below, but I’m done with this place. I was done five minutes before we _got_ here.”

“Agreed,” Vornir replied, “but never let it be said that working for Blodgada is boring.”

Himinglaeva rolled her eyes at that, but smiled gratefully at the distraction and went on. “The other is a simple bounce to Nidavellir; we should be able to get home from there. We lost the original, so we’re keeping this new one open for as long as we can. Heblindi and Blodgada both know the egress route. If that rift is gone as well, it shouldn’t be too much trouble to get them out. She’s the expert, after all.” She looked around, hands on her hips and barely-concealed pride in her voice. “We’re stretched thinner than an _eddercopp’s_ thread, but we’re ready. The rest is up to the others.”

“Perfect, as always. And she’s not the only expert, not anymore. Give yourself some credit.”

She grinned as she turned back to her work. Vornir dodged through what he hoped was only water droplets, stepping silently into the furthest temporary shelter. Yfrid raised one finger at his entrance; her face was scrunched tightly shut while she focused her hearing on the second, tiny rift they’d managed to punch through to the parley site. He waited until she peeked one eye open.

“Trade?” he mouthed, and she nodded vehemently. They switched positions rapidly, and she crossed her fingers over her heart in quiet thanks before she ducked out into the main chamber.

The sound through the rift was faint but clear; there was no need to see, and a watchrift would have been both a drain on resources and an unnecessary risk. The Traitor was well-versed in rift magic, from what Vornir understood. Although he had used no obvious _seidr_ on Midgard, that didn’t mean he was without. He’d become harder and harder to track since leaving the infirmary, and Blodgada had told the observers to stay on Odin if they had to choose between the two.

Vornir unconsciously mimicked Yfrid’s pose, hunched slightly on the tall stool with eyes shut and ears sharp. He heard the Traitor, heard Helblindi’s angry response. His brow knit as the King’s voice stopped abruptly, and there was a second of panic when he feared that they’d lost the link, but then Helblindi spoke again, calm and cold. There was a heavy silence, broken only by the light crunch of boots on sand.

 _“Vornir,”_ came Blodgada’s voice, and he straightened without thinking as she continued. _“Engage the drill._ ”

He burst to his feet and shot into the cavern.

“Go!” he shouted, vaulting over a pile of equipment and running as far into the cavern’s depths as he dared. “Helblindi’s clear! _Go!_ ”

Malfinn lifted his arm in acknowledgement; the darkness behind him shifted and grew, and the dwarf disappeared into it without a sound. Vornir skittered away, ensuring the path between drill and shadow was unobstructed. He came to a clumsy stop next to Himinglaeva. She stood ready, feet braced and goggles back in place. A tiny green flare shot up in the rear of the cavern, following closely by a pair of gold ones. At this signal, Himinglaeva leapt into action. Vornir heard her mutter what might have been a prayer, and then she shoved the drill’s lever forward with all her strength and tore a hole through the cosmos.

***

_The prickle on his neck grows stronger; it is not centered on the warriors in front of him. It is something else, a nagging feeling that there is something he has missed. The landscape is scattered with easy places for ambush, but his abbreviated flight with the shrike had confirmed that there were no hidden soldiers. No traps to be sprung._

_And yet._

_Blodgada steps forward and speaks, her voice calm and precise. There is no response; she does not seem surprised, but instead regards them coolly as Loki mentally scrambles, sending out threads of_ seidr _to test the surroundings. There is nothing to be found save for a few pinpricks here and there - tiny, unfocused portals brought on by the Convergence. Most will burn themselves out within minutes, if that. The feeling persists, though, and his fingers twitch, aching to summon a blade but not willing to be the one who breaks._

_Beside him, Odin stands, calm, unruffled and without a stitch of magic around him, save for that within Gungnir. He will not leave until the frost giants have gone; it is the way of the parley, and to do so would imply weakness. To imply that he is fleeing responsibility.  They watch each other for what seems like an eternity, but in reality is probably less than a minute, and then, without a word, the woman turns on her heel and begins to walk away._

_As she takes her first step, a sudden jolt shoots through Loki’s net of_ seidr _, and he tears his gaze away from Blodgada’s retreating form to see a rent forming in the aether. It grows rapidly, yawning and ripping until it seems to consume Loki’s entire vision. There is movement within, graceful and unfathomable. There is a suggestion of claws and teeth, of fur darker than the midnight that surrounds it. The creature takes a stride forward into the dim light of Svartalfheim, delicately stepping free of a simple silken cord as it does so, and Loki goes numb._

_Fenrir._

_Odin makes a small noise, and Loki glances over to him. Instead of fear or anger, though, he only sees a faint, relieved smile on the All-Father’s face._

_“This isn’t how it goes,” he breathes, turning to meet Loki’s eyes with a slight laugh. “This isn’t how it happens.”_

_Loki stares at him as though he’s lost his wits. “What the hell is_ that _supposed to m-” he begins, or at least he thinks he does, for at the same moment, Fenrir sees the All-Father, one who stood among those who betrayed him and bound him millennia past. With a howling scream that shakes the very foundations of the realm, the Wolf leaps, and all hell breaks loose._

 _His ears still ringing, Loki sees the Einherjar surge around Odin, spears raised to defend the All-Father. They are swept away like so much driftwood, and Loki cannot tell how many of them still draw breath. He dismisses the thought immediately as he draws_ seidr _like a drowning man, coaxing it from the very ground beneath him. Lashing out at the beast, his daggers land unerringly, piercing hide and flesh and sinew. The monster shakes them off, batting them away like the pinpricks they must be, and Loki reaches deeper. Violet-black tendrils of flame writhe from his fingers; they sink in just long enough for Fenrir to jerk his head, sending Loki through the air before he slams to the rocky ground, sliding several feet before he can stop himself. Lightning streaks past, near enough to graze his cheek on its way to the Wolf, who stumbles from the onslaught of both Odin and Thor. His brother bounds toward the beast, Mjolnir singing in his grip as he smashes the hammer into Fenrir’s jaw. The Wolf’s head snaps to the side, blood flying wide. There is a heavy, infinitesimal silence. The creature turns back to Thor with a low growl, ichor dripping from his jaws. A heavy paw crashes into his brother’s side, and Thor is flung skyward, landing in a heap near the closest pile of Einherjar. Fenrir takes a step toward him but is blown off his feet in turn by a blast from Gungnir. Rolling, he recovers, emerging from the dust cloud with fangs bared._

 _Loki stumbles to Odin’s side, ignoring the grinding he feels in his ribs and shoulder. “Call the bridge,” he gasps, grabbing his sleeve with one hand while flinging a bolt of fire at the approaching Wolf with the other. “Call for aid. This_ thing _-” he ducks without thinking as Thor releases another volley of lightning; it curves overhead, striking Fenrir as the creature tries to dodge the actinic branches. Droplets of glass splatter from the ground on which the beast stands, the sand superheated instantly under the onslaught. Odin sends forth a volley of his own to augment Thor’s attack; it is a tactic they have used in almost every campaign they have served on together, but this time, it seems to be of no effect. “We can’t stand against him alone.”_

_“No, we cannot.” Odin’s voice is rough with smoke and what might be exhaustion, but there is no debating his tone. He wipes a hand along his face, smearing blood and dirt alike with a wince. Loki sees that he is favoring his left arm; a thin stream of red trickles from a gash along his sleeve.“But we cannot take the risk of allowing him into Asgard. It ends here, and if nothing else, then at least we buy them time.”_

_Understanding comes over Loki at that, along with a strange sort of peace, and he nods, straightening as he draws still more_ seidr _. A few Einherjar have recovered, and they rally to Thor, backs strong and spears aloft. Another struggles to her feet, shield raised to defend the All-Father to her dying breath. Odin glances down at her, then at Loki, the odd half-smile once more on his lips._

 _“Keep them safe,” is all he says. He stabs Gungnir into the tousled sand at his feet, twisting to make sure the spear is firmly seated. He closes his eye, head bowed against the haft. Loki has barely drawn a breath before he feels it -_ seidr _blooming from beneath the surface of the blasted plain like magma, pulled from far within Svartalfheim’s smoldering core. Loki does not know the spell. He does not need to, and the destructive power now swirling around Odin’s boots can only ask one thing in payment. The All-Father peers at him through the gathering maelstrom, and Loki sees him speak a single word._

_“Hurry.”_

_His body is moving before he realizes what is happening; hastened by magic of his own, he sprints past the soldier standing between Odin and Fenrir, yanking her along by one elbow as he races toward Thor._

_“Down!” he hears himself screaming, and his brother turns to him, confusion in his face. Loki gathers everything that remains within him, scraping power from within his own bones to cast a web of_ seidr _over Thor and the Einherjar as he throws himself bodily at his brother. They tumble together into a pile, Thor swearing and kicking as Loki wrestles him viciously to the ground. The spell solidifies, pressing them to earth, and Loki’s last thought is to shield Thor’s eyes._

_There is no sound, no movement. Only a feeling of absence as the ground beneath them disintegrates, as the world around them is obliterated by power so vast, so deep that Loki’s heart stops for a long, terrifying minute. He cannot feel his brother beneath him, can no longer feel the heavy boots of the Einherjar jabbing into his ribs. He is lost, floating in an infinite nothing, and it is only when he tastes blood that he realizes he is still alive. He swallows the sob on his lips; a blow to the side of his head confirms that his brother is also still breathing, and with that, Loki releases the shield and shoves free of the tangle._

_He barely notices the smoking hulk that was once Fenrir; the beast is barely recognizable now. Loki scrambles across what is left of the earth, his eyes on the small, huddled figure that lies crumpled on the rocks._

_Odin is still breathing when Loki reaches him, but only just, and he can feel the All-Father’s life running through his fingers as he desperately summons healing magic._

_“My son.” The All-Father reaches weakly up to Loki’s face. He wonders if he has been blinded; Odin fumbles to touch his cheeks, then his forehead, and his touch is so gentle and clumsy that Loki cannot bear to correct him. To tell him that he is not Thor._

_“You fool,” he hisses instead. Hot tears spring unbidden to his face; they blur his vision, but he does not spare even a second to wipe them away. He pours_ seidr _into Odin’s body, and it flows out again just as quickly. “You absolute_ idiot. _”_

_He feels Odin’s fingers dragging along his face, leaving thick streaks of blood in their wake. Odin sighs, a tiny, rueful smile on his face as he stares unseeing at Loki._

_“Aye, Loki,” his father says. “That I am.”_

_His hand lingers briefly, and Loki feels a violent, painless jolt shoot through him. His stomach lurches as an uncontrollable shudder surges along his entire body. Something shatters within him, crumbling to ash, and for a moment, he is afraid that his spell has failed. He frantically tries again, hands shaking as Odin goes limp, his arm dropping to the ground. Dimly, he hears Thor crying out, and Loki has just enough time to gather the All-Father into his arms before the Bifrost drags them both home._

_***_

Eir and a few attendants had already arrived by the time Loki and the others returned through the Bridge; the instant the light faded, they were already moving. Loki dared not take his attention from Odin. He focused on the magic that continued to flow from his hands into the All-Father, struggling to stay conscious as he did so. He was drained, dangerously so, but there was no other option. He heard Eir’s voice as though from far away; she was calling for a doctor as she jogged toward Thor and the wounded Einherjar. Still reeling from the attack, Loki wasn’t sure what she meant; the word was strange on the healer’s lips, but then Aeslin sprinted forward from her spot near the dais, already shedding her jacket. _Doctor_.

Frigga was at his side in an instant. He looked blearily up at her as she knelt on the cool Observatory floor and reached for her husband’s face. She stroked her fingers down his temples, brow knit.

“Does he live?”

Loki exhaled as he continued to flood Odin’s body with healing _seidr_. “I think so.”

“You _think_.” Her voice was low and dangerous. In another time or place, Loki might have quailed at her tone, but exhausted and bleeding, he barely registered it. Two attendants materialized at his elbow with a litter. He shook his head at them, not wanting to risk breaking contact with Odin when the situation was so fragile. Loki struggled to his feet instead, the All-Father heavy in his arms. The healers shifted the attention to him, doing their best to support him without impeding him. Frigga kept one hand on Odin; the fingers of her other dug painfully into the muscles above Loki’s elbow. He felt the first threads of Frigga’s magic; it danced and wove beneath his as she searched for what remained of her husband.

Her link established, Frigga let go of Loki and Odin long enough to allow her son to step onto the skiff that was moored at the edge of the Observatory. The craft rolled beneath his feet as he did so; Loki managed to keep upright without dropping the All-Father, but at the cost of what _had_ been an almost-dislocated shoulder. He bit back every obscenity he’d ever learned as it came fully unseated, dropping ungracefully onto the bench at the rear of the skiff.

“I can’t be sure,” he admitted after catching a breath. His mind was still churning around their final exchange, and he shook his head, both to clear it and to answer his mother. “A flicker or two, perhaps, but that might have been wishful thinking.” He raised her face to his mother’s; her eyes were ringed with Sight, but it seemed oddly muted. Loki opened his mouth to speak, but she looked away again almost immediately and refocused on Odin. Closing his eyes, Loki bowed his head and allowed himself a second’s rest. _Seidr_ continued to drain from him, but more and more it felt as though he were trying to fill an abyss. It would never be enough.

The skiff bumped gently against the balcony of the Healer’s Wing. Frigga stood, and he followed her numbly, an automaton and his Queen. Hands touched his scorched armor, pulling at his elbow. They tried to take his burden, tugging gently, and he instinctively held tighter.

“Loki.” His mother’s voice was firm. “You can let go now.”

He stared at her for a moment, then down at the bier in front of him.

“Loki. Let go. It’s all right. You’ve done enough.”

Realization came slowly, and Loki finally recognized what he had thought a coffin to be a simple bed, one that could be easily moved to Odin’s chambers.

“Let go.”

Loki nodded, and a pair of healers came forward to pry Odin out of his arms. They laid him on the bed with practiced gentleness, clearly familiar with what was required. He stepped back to give them room, and Frigga glanced at him.

“All the way,” she soothed. “It’s all right. We have him now.”

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Loki released the cord of _seidr_ that stretched between him and the All-Father. Exhaustion and relief swept through him almost immediately, and he slumped onto the edge of a nearby bed, head bowed as he tried to gather himself once more.

He had no idea how much time had passed before the cot gave a small creak; it jostled a bit as his brother sat next to him. His eyes were on Odin, but he spoke to Loki as he held out a warm, damp cloth.

“You’re injured.”

Loki shrugged with his good shoulder as he took the offering; the other, still dislocated, was beginning to stiffen up, and he couldn’t manage to summon the energy to fix it, or even to care. He wiped the worst of the blood and ash from his face to humor his brother, then tossed the cloth into one of the innumerable baskets of linen scattered around the room. It flopped over the edge but didn’t slip to the floor, so Loki counted it a victory. A tiny, useless one. He looked away.

Thor’s voice was curious and oddly hopeful when he spoke. “May I help you? It’s not like we haven’t done it before, and…” his voice trailed off, and he sighed. “I just… they won’t let me near him. There’s apparently little I can do to help _any_ of them, but I thought perhaps…” He looked at his hands. “Perhaps I could help you.”

Loki gave him a weak smile, the best he could summon under the circumstances. “I’d be grateful,” he answered, glad at the way Thor’s face brightened a touch at the words. He lay back, bracing himself as best he could. There was a brief, sharp pain as Thor reset his shoulder; it was followed almost immediately by a cool, soothing sensation; a faint smell of rain seemed to drift over it. Thor helped him sit up once more, and Loki thanked him again as he cradled his aching arm. They stayed on the cot together, all but propping each other up in their exhaustion as the healers swirled around them. After what seemed like hours, Einherjar came to take Odin’s bier to his chambers. Faint gold swirled around him; the All-Father was drowned in Sleep at last. Led by Frigga, the soldiers bore him from the room. After a moment, Thor stood, drawing Loki to his feet as well, and they followed.

***

Full dark had fallen outside Odin’s chamber; Loki sat untidily in a chair near Odin’s bed, legs crossed at the ankle and arm in a sling that Forseti had provided. His shoulder had already begun to knit, thanks to the magic infused into the cloth, but it did nothing to help the throbbing. He shifted uncomfortably, doing his best to stay awake.

The door to the chamber opened. Aeslin stepped in, nodding her thanks to the Einherjar; he dipped his head in a short bow as he pulled it shut behind her. She walked to Loki, boots quiet on the few steps to the dais, and bent to press a kiss to the top of his head. Her fingers trailed down his face and shoulders, coming to rest on his chest, and he covered her hands with one of his. Her cheek lay against his hair.

“Did everyone make it?” he asked, voice rough from disuse.

“Almost.”

He exhaled slowly. “Damn.”

“We did all we could,” she said, and Loki got the distinct impression that she was talking to herself as much as to him. “They went peacefully.”

Loki stroked a thumb over her knuckles in response. One of Odin’s attendants approached with another chair, setting it down next to Loki’s. She smiled at Aeslin’s thanks, inclining her head before disappearing once more. Aeslin brushed her lips on Loki’s hair again, then straightened and sank gratefully into the seat, maneuvering in such a way that her hand never left his. They sat in a companionable silence, keeping vigil over Odin with their fingers twined together on the arm of Loki’s chair. Frigga and Thor had gone; there was much to do, and Loki knew that his turn would come soon. He had chosen to wait here in the meantime, gathering as much strength as he could for the coming days.

“Why on earth would you say something like that to Helblindi?” Her voice was quiet, but it fell into the silence like a stone. Loki lifted his head from the back of his chair with some effort and faced her.

“I thought it might help,” he answered simply. “I thought that if I offered myself that it would be enough somehow. That he wouldn’t care about you, or Parker. You wouldn’t have to face a tribunal, and if I only had to worry about what he would do to me, it would be all right. I might find a way to wiggle free on my own, but if I had to worry about the two of you…” he closed his eyes, sighing as he let his head fall back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”

There was no anger in her tone; she merely sounded tired, and that made it somehow worse. “It wasn’t what we agreed to,” she replied, pushing herself upright as she turned to him, resting her free hand on his jaw. “I can’t speak for Parker, but you and I are in this together. Wife isn’t just a word, Loki. We _swore_ to do this together. I can’t face it alone, and it’s not fair of you to try to make me, no matter how good your intentions are. It’s bad enough that we’ve got to deal with this.” She let her fingers drop to his chest, then to the spot just below his ribs. “Odin’s spell.” Her brow knit, and she tilted her head as if listening as she pressed a little harder, then shifted her fingers to a different spot. “It’s not here.”

“It’s not,” Loki confirmed. “It’s gone.”

She stared at him, clearly troubled by his flat response, and Loki let out a breath as he looked at Odin.

“I called him a fool,” he said. “An idiot. He agreed with me, touched my face and then he was just… gone. I didn’t realize what he’d done until later.”

“Gone. I thought Frigga said he was still alive.”

“Gone is a relative term,” Loki admitted, “especially when it comes to him. He’s Sleeping, as far as we can tell, but he’s deeper than he’s ever been. Far beyond our reach, and whether he’s actually going to come out of it again is anyone’s guess.” He extricated his fingers from Aeslin’s, leaning forward to scrub a hand across his face and through his hair. Flakes of ash fluttered merrily to the floor at his feet.

“It’s just like him, you know.” He gave a gentle scoff, thinking of the dark streaks of Odin’s blood that had stained his face. “Wait until the last possible second, then solve the problem in the most dramatic way you can imagine, all while managing to avoid the nasty business of actually addressing the underlying issue.” Loki sat back. “It’s a gift, really, but I’d be _far_ more impressed if it weren’t so damn _use_ less.”

Aeslin rubbed her fingers soothingly on the nape of his neck. “Especially when he was fixing a problem he caused in the first place. Kind of takes away any nobility in the action.”

“One would think.”

“It’s strange,” she observed. “I sometimes think I should be grateful to him. I mean, if he wasn’t such a pigheaded jackass, we would never have met.”

“We would have. It just might have taken longer. Another place. Another life. Another reality. No matter. I would have found you eventually.”

“You say that as though you did the finding.” She nudged him delicately, mindful of his bruises.

His reply was interrupted as the torches flickered; they turned to see the doors open and a messenger in the archway.

“The All-Mother sends for you, my lord,” the man said.

Loki nodded. “I’m coming.” Turning to Aeslin, he brushed a lock of hair from her face. “I’ll be back to get you; she’ll want you as well, but there are things I need to see to first. I won’t be long.” He stopped, conscious of Odin. “Will keep vigil until I get back? It’s tradition for a family member to stay, at least for a little while, but you don’t have to.”

She searched his face, eyes knowing. “But you want me to.”

The memory of the All-Father’s last words on Svartalfheim flitted through Loki, and he fought down the twitch in his veins at the way Odin had sounded. “I do. Just until I get back.”

Aeslin nodded, aware of the messenger shifting impatiently from one foot to the other in the doorway. “I will. For you. Not him.”

He kissed her cheek, the smooth skin warm beneath his lips. “Thank you.” Loki stood slowly, careful to keep his back straight as he strode down the platform steps and accompanied Frigga’s page out of the room.

Alone in the room with the unresponsive All-Father, Aeslin let out a small sigh. She shifted Loki’s chair around; the legs scraped loudly in the silence, and she winced. Taking her own seat again, she kicked off her boots and rested her aching feet on the other cushion. Leaning back and resting her hands on her stomach, she stared up at the shadows that danced and played along the ceiling.

“Just so we’re clear,” she said to the figure sleeping beneath his golden shroud, “this doesn’t make us friends.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Wednesday! Feedcrack appreciated as always. Thank you all for being here! <3
> 
> Lyric from "Just Another Day" by Oingo Boingo, which is one of the major inspirations for this work.


	35. Chapter 35

“Well.” Surtr’s face was obscured by the darkness of Muspelheim, but his voice was both thoughtful and a little irritated. “ _That_ did not go as expected.”

“The drill worked perfectly,” Blodgada replied briskly as she adjusted the rift controls for better light. “Fenrir kept his side of the bargain, and although his loss is significant, Odin is also off the field. We couldn’t have asked for a much better outcome.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Surtr chided.

“I know.” She sighed, hands briefly idle on the panel. “I wish I could say that I don’t know where all that came from, but it’s _maddening_. I can’t even tell you how many times we went through it, and I made myself abundantly clear. If they asked a question he didn’t have an answer to, he was to say that it remained to be seen and then go back to the topic at hand. _That remains to be seen_ , not _wading through the blood of a thousand thousand_ …” She trailed off into a frustrated noise.

“I’m not averse to threats, you know.” Surtr observed. “ _Give us the Casket or we’ll get it ourselves, even if that means wading through your blood to do it_. That’s a proven negotiating tactic, one that’s stood through millennia of war. Just vague enough to slow them down. But that? It was too much, even for those like us.”

“Well, he’s always been dramatic.”  A familiar commotion began in the the main rift chamber, and she exhaled sharply. “And it sounds as though he’s not quite finished. With your permission?”

He waved a hand with a sympathetic smile. “Dismissed, Blood Lieutenant. Good luck.”

Blodgada closed the connection and sat for a moment, massaging her aching temples and  knowing full well that her headache was about to get worse.

“There you are!” Helblindi groused as he burst into the private rift chamber. “Do you intend to make me wander like a lost messenger every time I need you? I would expect that, as my Lieutenant, you would be available when I require you.”

“And _I_ would expect your head of intelligence to be where the intelligence is gathered, especially when she's been given very specific orders,” Blodgada replied far more calmly than she felt.

“Orders which you have not yet fulfilled,” he said, glaring down at Blodgada as she turned from the lens.

“Orders which we are in the _process_ of fulfilling,” she corrected, feeling a tiny muscle in her jaw begin to twitch.

“Orders which you have _failed_ to fulfill. So much for your intelligence.” He spat. “Worthless.”

“Worthless?” She had planned on riding out the worst of Helblindi’s tirade before sending him on his way, but this insult to her watchers would not go unanswered. “Their work only becomes worthless when _it’s not used.”_

He looked at her sharply. “I will determine what I will or will not use.”

“Because that worked so well on Svartalfheim,” she shot back. “I gave you everything you needed, and you come out with a speech like _that?_ ”

“You mean before you interrupted me? Questioned in front of _everyone_ present as though I am a mere tool?”

“I questioned nothing,” Blodgada said. “I said _nothing_. Do not put your foolish threats on my shoulders.”

He stared at her. “Foolish.”

“A _thousand thousand_ , Helblindi? Wading through the blood of innocents? That is _not_ what we agreed.”

“I seek justice for our people, Blood Lieutenant.” There was a gentle emphasis on the syllable. “I thought you did as well.”

“Justice,” she snapped back. “Not _slaughter_. Odin and his whelps are one thing. What you’re implying is quite another.”

“As king, it falls me to determine that. It falls to _you_ to do as you’re told, and you’ve failed at it. At this rate, we’ll have neither in our lifetimes.”

Blodgada spoke through gritted teeth. “My watchers have been working every moment since you gave that order. We can't just walk in here and _figure out what those lying bastards are up to._ We gather data. We analyze. We confirm, and then we present our findings.”

“And a _snegl_ could do it quicker,” he growled. “How hard is it to look at people?”

“It's hard,” she told him bluntly. “We have to find the specific people you need. We have to figure out what they're doing. We have to find the people they're talking to and figure out what _they're_ doing. We have to track them so we can tell if they're _changing_ what they're doing. There are hundreds of pieces to this game, and we need to find them all.”

“Do it faster.”

“If we do it faster,” she said in the same low, threatening tone, “we will miss things. We cannot afford to miss things. The tiniest detail can change the course of a battle. You should know that.”

“Then use your intelligence for once and find a way,” he hissed. “Now. Or I bring _this_ observatory down around your head, too.”

That tipped it. Blodgada slammed her fist on the table as she stood. Her chair toppled with a loud crash, but her voice was cold and clear. “Haste makes mistakes!”

The words had come unbidden, but Helblindi recognized them as well. His expression of shock lasted only a second before it was replaced by dark anger. Blodgada held his eyes, chin raised, until at last he spun on his heel and stalked out of the room. She heard him bellow something as he passed through the main chamber, and then he was gone.

Blodgada entered the rift chamber a moment later, spine straight and face calm. The watchers were focused on their lenses, and everyone else had gone back to their assignments. All except Vornir. He approached without fear, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She exhaled sharply, then raised her voice slightly. “A moment, please. All of you.” Each face turned toward her expectantly. “I cannot tell you to ignore your King, but know that in this, he lacks the experience to understand. All of you are fulfilling your duties masterfully. You’ve accomplished more than I thought was even possible in such a short amount of time; do not listen to those who might tell you otherwise. You answer to me, and if he returns and I am not here, send for me immediately. You have your tasks: they do not include humoring his ill temper. Leave that to me.” Blodgada smiled, careful not to show her weariness. “As you were, then.”

Vornir was watching her as she finished. “You sure you’re fine?”

“I just need a moment, that’s all. I won’t be long.”

Vornir nodded, and Blodgada walked out of the cave. She told herself it was just a bit of wandering, just a breath of air, but she ended up at the well. Exactly as she knew she would.

The well was a marvel of engineering. It was massive, cut through solid rock and connected to pipes and troughs that carried water wherever it was needed. The maker’s mark near the base held only a date and a single name. _Angrboda._

Blodgada knelt, brushing the runes with reverent fingers as she rested her head on the cool, worn stone. “I don’t know how you managed it,” she whispered. “He never got angry when you said it. He just… listened. Gods below, but I wish you were here.”

The stone gave no response; she had not expected one, and after a time Blodgada stood and began her long, slow walk back to the rift station.

***

_Over 1000 years ago_

“There it is,” Angrboda said. “About fifty steps down. It’s deep, but it’s a big one.” She knelt with her hands on the stone for a moment longer, eyes closed as she sent delicate tendrils of magic through the rock. Probing carefully to confirm her suspicions, she finally opened her eyes and sat back on her heels. “Maybe sixty, but no more than that if you start right here.” Pulling a charcoal stylus from behind her ear, she marked a simple rune on the pale stone; it glowed briefly as the magic settled, making the symbol indelible.

The head palace stonemason rubbed his chin. “Sixty. That’ll make for quite the undertaking. You’re _sure_ there’s nothing you can do about the other one?”

“I’m positive.” Angrboda stood up, brushing rock dust from her knees. She pushed a lock of wavy black hair out of her face as she gave the stonemaster an understanding but firm smile. “That well’s on a different aquifer, and it needs time to recover. There’s nothing _anyone_ can do to speed it up. A new well here will take off the stress, and once they’re both in operation, you’ll be able to shift your use based on need. Neither aquifer suffers, and you’ll have all the water you need. Indefinitely.”

The man pondered for a moment as he looked down at her. Even standing, Angrboda barely came to his chest, but she wasn’t bothered by the height difference. It just meant that she could squeeze into places that others couldn’t in order to trace the flow of water and figure out how to guide it to the places it was needed. Her build was a part of what made her such a skilled dowser; she was one of the best Jotunheim had ever seen. She knew it, and apparently those at the palace had agreed. She would not be standing in the royal courtyard otherwise.

“Let me run some numbers,” Kivir told her after a moment. “It’ll take me a day, at least. Would you like me to walk you back to your rooms? I’ll see that someone brings you dinner.”

“Oh.” She winced at how disappointed she sounded and did her best to inject some gratitude into her tone. “Thank you. That will be lovely, I’m sure,” Angrboda said, already wondering if she really required an escort. She’d been working from sunrise to set every day since her arrival, criss-crossing the grounds in search of a way to solve the palace’s water problems. With the end now in sight, she’d been hoping for a chance to explore. Angrboda had ever even been to the Capitol before, and the idea of going back to her rooms so that she could spend the evening staring at the walls was a little exasperating.

Kivir’s lip quirked slightly. “Or if you’d _rather_ ,” he told her casually, “there’s a communal hall where the workers eat, swap stories, game, that sort of thing. I can take you there, instead.”

“Please.” Angrboda broke into a wide smile, and as the stonemason shouldered his tools and led the way, she wondered what stories she’d hear about life in Laufey’s palace.

Not many, as it turned out.

Angrboda adored people. She always had, and her lack of fear around strangers had caused her parents _more_ than a few fits over the years. It was a skill that she’d honed as she grew older, however, and now she used that fearlessness to benefit others. The ones that were nervous or shy. The ones that stayed at the edges of a crowd or feast; she had learned ways to make them feel welcomed without calling attention to them.

Her habit served her well in this place, too, and within a short time, it was as though the workers gathered in the large hall had been her friends since childhood. She listened and laughed at their stories and jests, trading jokes and riddles with ease. After one particular exchange, one of those at her table realized that she wasn’t from the palace, or even from the surrounding area, and therefore she had stories that none in the room had heard before. She demurred for a moment, thinking of a girlhood spent clambering over rocks, waterfalls and whatever else stood in her path. The good-natured prodding continued, though, and seeing that the others were genuinely interested, she began to talk.

As full night grew, the crowd in the hall also swelled. New workers came as their days finished; they called to friends that were already there and were immediately and loudly hushed by those listening to Angrboda’s stories. Uproarious laughter spilled out in the courtyard, drawing still more inside. To allow those coming a place to eat, Angrboda had moved to one of the gaming tables. At one listener’s urging, she’d sat cross-legged on the worn, time-darkened surface so those further away could hear.

“So there I sit, two spans down a well and on a ledge the size of a _geifr’s_ nest,” she continued. “The water is rising, and when I look up, all I can see in the opening is the head of this lovesick beast, singing its heart out. Then, just a few seconds later, it stops. It looks away. _Marvelous_ , I think. This is the moment. It’s going to leave. _I_ can leave. But then I hear something else. The noise has called another one, but is it a female? Oh, no. That would be too easy. It’s another male, _also_ lovesick, and they’re going to fight over me. Literally _right over me_ , charging at each other without bothering to notice that there’s a well _right there…”_

Laughter burst from the onlookers, but it was rapidly muffled. The only sound that remained was a faint chuckling coming from the far side of the room. Despite her place on the table, Angrboda had to crane to see over the heads of the crowd. At the door stood a man, arms folded as he leaned against the doorframe. As they locked eyes, he straightened and gave what might have been a small bow. “My apologies for interrupting,” he said smoothly. “Please continue.” The room fell silent, and every eye followed the man as he languidly strolled away.

Angrboda leaned over to Kivir, who had stayed nearby. “What am I missing?” she murmured, a faint premonition blossoming in the quiet.

“You truly _have_ been living at the edge of the world,” he whispered back, “if you don’t recognize your own king.” Her worst fears confirmed, Angrboda gave a tiny, agonized hiccup and clapped one hand over her mouth. The stonemaster raised one brow, clearly trying to smother a grin as he went on. “But it’s apparently a night for firsts. I haven’t heard him laugh that hard since Farbauti died.”

***

Angrboda didn’t get much sleep that night. Instead, she lay staring thoughtfully at the ceiling, arm beneath her head and one finger tapping idly on her stomach. Although she had hoped to catch a glimpse of the the king, she’d _also_ hoped it would happen with a bit more dignity. She sighed. What was done was done. The shame faded quickly, replaced by thoughts of Farbauti.

Everyone knew of Farbauti, even those who lived along the edges of Jotunheim. She was a legend. A warrior Queen, her strength matched only by her wisdom. She had been Laufey’s Lieutenant. Her loyalty was unwavering, their love the stuff of which dreams were made. Farbauti had stood by his side in every campaign. Every battle until the last, when she had stepped in front of him instead, taking the spear that would have taken his life. A warrior’s death, one that she chose and one for which Laufey could not fault her.

Word had soon spread of the king’s grief, and how he had pulled so deep within himself as to be almost unrecognizable. He was still king, but he went about his duties as though made of clockwork, not as he had before her death. The joy was gone, shed from him like a winter cloak. The young crown prince had stepped forward, taking some of the burden onto his own shoulders despite the fact that he had lost his mother.

Embarrassment be damned, Angrboda finally decided. She was glad the king had laughed.

She woke before dawn the next morning, and after a quiet inquiry, Angrboda found one of the small palace chapels. A tiny offering to the soul of Farbauti; she didn’t want to be too presumptive, but she asked the Warrior Queen to send a bit of extra light and warmth to Laufey and the two princes. Her heart ached for the three of them. She knew the gesture wasn’t much, but she wasn’t sure what else to do. Mindful of the time, she stayed for only a few moments before heading down to the communal hall for breakfast.

Kivir found her soon after. He put his plate down on the table, then reached for one of the pitchers nearby. “You’ve convinced me,” he said, filling his cup with fragrant juice. “We need that well. Problem is, I can’t go digging around in the palace courtyard without approval.”

She nodded. “Seems reasonable. How do you get approval?” she asked, wondering if she’d have to extend her stay.

“I don’t,” he said, smiling wryly before pointing to her with his spoon. “ _You_ do. The king has agreed to a meeting this afternoon.” She coughed violently; the worker on her left thumped her back helpfully while Kivir handed her a cloth for her streaming eyes. “Let me know what you need, and I might be able to help you prepare.”

Angrboda barely heard him. She bolted to her feet, remembering at the last minute to scoop up her dishes and deposit them in the washers’ bin as she sprinted from the hall. She took the steps to her room two at a time, trying to determine if she had brought enough colored ink for charts and frantically wondering which of her few, utilitarian tunics and trousers were at least passably appropriate for meeting a king.

Her worry about her clothing turned out to be irrelevant, as she didn’t have time to change. She had just finished the last of her diagrams when a page arrived with her summons. Frantically scattering sand on the still-damp ink, Angrboda gathered her hair into a loose tail while it did its work. She shook the parchment, pounce glittering in the air as she rolled the whole mess and prayed she’d given it long enough to dry. With charts and schematics bundled under one arm, she hurried through the palace after the page, jogging when she had trouble keeping up. There was ink on her hands, probably ink in her hair, and she deliberately avoided looking at her clothing. Better not to know if she was a disaster there, as well. Angrboda squared her shoulders as the page knocked, then took a deep breath as she entered the room.

She recognized the king immediately, even though she had only seen him for an instant. Telling herself that the blush in her face was only from her run through the palace, Angrboda caught her breath, but as she bowed, she found herself wondering if would be a good or bad thing if the king recognized her, in turn. There were a couple of other palace officials of some sort in the room; she nodded to them as her head came up once more, but her attention was immediately pulled beyond them to the solemn-faced child sitting near the window. A tiny voice told her she should probably know who it was, but as scattered as her thoughts were, she only saw a child in a room of adults. Without even realizing it, she subtly changed her manner to one that she hoped would put the boy at ease.

The meeting went remarkably well. Angrboda explained her ideas clearly and succinctly, but made sure to remain friendly and approachable to the boy. When she felt that she had presented her case to the best of her ability, she asked if there were any questions. Her eyes were on the child as she said this, but he shook his head as he made a few notes on his parchment. To her surprise, the king spoke instead.

“One question.”

“Yes, my liege?” she said in a voice that she hoped was the appropriate combination of confident and respectful. Her mind was racing back through the presentation, wondering what she could have forgotten.

He looked at her for a long moment, and the smile was so brief that she wondered if she imagined it. “Tell me, if you would be so kind. How _did_ you get away from those lovesick beasts?”

***

As predicted, the new palace well was not an easy endeavor. The laborers worked hard, though, cracking the stone with ice and winching the huge chunks out of the hole. Bit by bit, step by step, the well grew deeper. Angrboda spent most of her time at the build site; her duties would not be complete until the palace had the water it needed, and this well was only the first step. Threading magic through stone, she searched for weak points and unexpected pockets of air or water. She did her best to keep the workers safe, all while working toward the goal of getting water to the surface.

Weeks had passed; the work was proceeding apace. Angrboda finished marking the rough wall of the well’s interior, then hopped onto the slab of rock being winched from the depths, one hand on the rope for balance. A shout from above, and she tapped the message cord in reply, sending a vibration that confirmed she was ready to come up.

“Nearly there,” she called out just before she reached the surface. “You’ll want harnesses from now on. The stone gets very weak a few steps down. Great for excavation, but we’ll want to be able to get people out quickly if the worst should happen.” As her head crested the lip of the well, her voice faltered. The few laborers who weren’t watching her in silence were instead watching the royal page, who stepped forward when he saw her.

“Angrboda,” he said, bowing slightly. “The presence of your company is requested at the council banquet this evening.”

It took her a moment to understand what must have happened. “I’m so sorry,” she said, stepping off the trussed stone and onto solid ground. “I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else. My name isn’t uncommon; it happens more often than you’d think. I’m just a dowser.” The page raised an eyebrow. “A _provincial_ dowser,” she clarified, a little unnerved by his silence. “I have no business attending any sort of palace banquet. I’m afraid I’m still rather new around here, but perhaps I can help you find this other Angrboda?”

“My thanks,” replied the page, smiling a little, “but no need.” A short bow, and then he withdrew.

The normal workday chatter resumed, and Angrboda let out a relieved sort of laugh. “Well then. That sorts that out.” She clapped her hands together as she refocused. “Now. Point me in the direction of your harnesses, Kivir, and I’ll take a look.”

She busied herself in the equipment tent for the next little while. A cool breeze blew through the open sides, teasing through her hair as she checked masons’ harnesses for damage and fit with a speed and attention born from experience. She’d been humming a tune, her fingers moving over buckles in matching rhythm, when it suddenly occurred to her how _loud_ she sounded. Curious at the silence, Angrboda lifted her head at the same time that a shadow fell across her table. The page had returned, and this time he bore what appeared to be a carefully folded piece of parchment. He gave her another respectful bow, then held out the paper. Angrboda’s brow knit as she came around the table, wiping her grimy hands self-consciously along her trousers before taking the note.

The paper was heavy and well-made, clearly meant for something besides messages. One edge was ragged where it had apparently been torn off a larger sheet. The outer fold was addressed to _Angrboda of the Well_. The greeting was specific enough that Angrboda was now willing to believe the note was meant for her, but it still made little sense. She gingerly unfolded it, mindful of the dirt she was smudging on the pristine page.

 _There’s no mistake,_ the note began, warm red-gold ink glimmering in the afternoon sun. _Your attendance is in no way obligatory, but truth be told, council dinners have been gloomy of late. I hope you’ll come; you’d make the mood much lighter._

Her eyes widened at the signature.

_Laufey._

She blinked up at the messenger, and he gave her an expectant smile.

“Um,” she told him stupidly, unable to get out another syllable. The man waited patiently for something more, and it dawned on Angrboda after a moment that he needed a reply for his king. She opened her mouth again; the only sound that emerged was a panicked sort of _hhhhhhh_ noise, which she forced into the first words she could find. “ _hhhhhhh-_ I don’t have anything to wear.”

His voice was kind. “Is _that_ it?” he told her, offering an arm with a grin. “That’s no problem at all. Come with me.”

Angrboda put her hand on his arm, wincing at the dirt she must have been leaving on the rich fabric, and let him lead her away from the silent, wide-eyed laborers.

***

The banquet passed in a blur; Angrboda remembered very little of it afterward. It was quite frustrating. A meal with the king. The _king_. A once in a lifetime chance, something that she would be able to tell her grandchildren, but what could she tell them? The food had been delicious, but she had no idea what it was. The names of the other guests escaped her, with the exception of the crown prince. Byleistr. She remembered the feeling of her still-damp hair curling on her neck. She remembered the soft, smooth fabric of her tunic. The palace tailors were masters; by the time she’d finishing bathing, they’d provided her with simple yet elegant clothing that fit perfectly. She remembered the feeling of achievement when she’d finally coaxed a small smile from the prince. That was her clearest memory: the shy, luminous smile from a child already old beyond his years.

Angrboda returned to her work on the well the next morning; there was some gentle ribbing from the other workers, but they good-naturedly allowed her peace after only a little while. The main excavation was completed within the week, and the next phase began. She spent more time in the palace proper, climbing and crawling along corridors and passageways as she identified pipes, hunted down leaks and ensured that the water would come easily when called. The project’s scope seemed to grow larger with each passing day; Angrboda hadn’t realized how massive the palace complex actually was. She kept in close contact with Kivir, warning him one day over lunch that the entire process would likely take longer than she had originally anticipated, though the work might go faster with a few more workers. He’d waved her concern aside, saying that the requisitions had all been approved and she could tap into whatever resources she needed.

That was the strange bit. She’d never submitted _any_ requisitions.

As the weeks passed, Angrboda became more familiar with the palace’s inhabitants and their routines. The king was often sequestered, but she saw the crown prince every now and then. She was always sure to give him a smile and wave, or a friendly greeting if her hands were otherwise occupied. They had occasional brief conversations, too. The smiles were still rare, but each one was like finding a gem in a well. Their interactions became more frequent as time went on, and Angrboda wondered if she were subconsciously seeking him out.

Byleistr was sometimes with Laufey’s other child, Helblindi. The younger prince was much less solemn than his brother, and far more boisterous. More often, though, Byleistr was in the company of a red-haired girl a few spans older than he. Her name was Blodgada; she was linked distantly to the royal family, from what Angrboda understood. The girl was tough, smart, practical and fiercely loyal to Byleistr, and Angrboda loved her for it. Her heart still ached for the royal family, and she had kept up her morning visits to the small temple in order to pray for Laufey and his sons.

A few days before she was ready to announce the project completed and begin her preparations to return home to the provinces, she received another note addressed to _Angrboda of the Well._

 _Another banquet looms,_ it read in what she now recognized as Laufey’s writing. _May I rely on your pleasant company?_

Surprised but marginally more prepared this time, she replied with what she hoped was an appropriate acceptance, pulled her new tunic from the wardrobe and tried to create a mnemonic to remember the council members’ names as she brushed her hair. Byleistr smiled at her as she entered the chamber; she grinned back. It was only later that she realized Laufey had been smiling, too.

The next morning, Kivir approached her with a list of tasks.

“I know you’re almost ready to go home,” he said, “but would you mind looking at a few things before you do?”

After rapidly skimming the list, Angrboda nodded. None of the tasks were difficult, and only few would take more than a couple of days. Every single one of them could have been done by a local dowser, but she gladly agreed, knowing full well she was merely looking for an excuse to stay at the palace a little longer.

It was clear by now that the three children were deliberately seeking her company, and she was glad for it. Those who had worked on the well had gone back to their usual duties once it was complete. It was nice to have someone to chat with while she measured and diagrammed and rerouted pipes, and in the process, Angrboda learned how to best reach each of the children.

Little Helblindi wanted to be coddled and fussed over. Angrboda knew he had plenty of nursemaids; she’d seen enough of them sprinting futilely after him during one prank or another. In in the back of her mind, though, she saw a duty-swamped father and the battlefield where Farbauti had fallen, so she fussed to his heart’s content.

Dithering over Blodgada, on the other hand, was _vastly_ unappreciated. She responded better to direct speaking, honesty, and the occasional comparison to the late Queen, clearly the girl’s hero. She also had exceptional skill with puzzles and riddles; since Angrboda had spent most of her life far outside the palace walls, she knew some that Blodgada had never heard before. Although it sometimes required a few days of scowling and stomping around the palace, Blodgada always figured them out, her face shining with fierce pride when Angrboda confirmed that she was right.

Byleistr didn’t need coddling or compliments to his pride. He needed someone to listen. Blodgada tried, Byleistr once told Angrboda while she winnowed out a particularly tricky blockage, but she always gave him advice or more information.

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” he said, smoothing his thumb slowly over the glittering stone in his hand as he spoke. “I know that she’s trying to help, but I already have too many people telling me how to do things. I just want to _talk_ sometimes. Are princes allowed to do that?”

Angrboda smiled as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and bent to her work again. “They are to me.” She lifted her chin. “Tell me about that stone. Where’d you find it? It looks amazing.”

It wasn’t always interesting rocks; sometimes he would tell her about a battle he’d studied, or about weather patterns that might affect crop growth, or nothing much at all. Angrboda would ask questions or make a comment every now and again so that he would know she was paying attention, and for a while, he didn’t have to worry about being a prince. He was just a boy who’d found a fascinating rock.

She found herself slowing as she neared the end of her list of tasks, finally admitting that she wasn’t ready to leave the palace just yet. She adored the children and the time they spent with her, and that was all. She _certainly_ wasn’t stalling until the next council banquet, she told herself unconvincingly. Still, her relative inefficiency was rewarded with yet another note for _Angrboda of the Well_. She went to the marketplace when she had a spare moment, spending far too much of her coin on a new tunic to wear and laughing at herself the whole way back to her rooms.

It was enough, Angrboda told herself. Three banquets. She’d met the princes, perhaps could count both them and Blodgada as friends. She had spoken to the king and even sat at his table. It was all more than anyone from her station could hope for, really, and it was past time to finish her work and go home.

She sent a message to Kivir of her intentions, then spent the morning at the drafting table sorting and labeling charts. A knock came some time later.

“Come in,” she called, having a good idea of who it was from the muffled sounds filtering through the door.

Helblindi barrelled in first, clearly on a mission. “Angrboda!” he crowed as she pushed away from the desk and opened her arms. He leapt into her lap. “Father says you have to go have lunch!”

“That is _not_ what he said,” Blodgada sighed, her tone carrying the exasperation it often bore around Helblindi. She folded her arms and leaned against the wall by the door. “And besides that, he sent Byleistr. You’re just tagging along.”

“So are you!” Helblindi shot back.

Blodgada rolled her eyes at him but gave no response as Byleistr stepped forward. Angrboda gave him a welcoming smile.

“How may I help you, my lord?”

Byleistr’s lip quirked at the formality, and he gave her a proper bow in return. “My father would like to know if you might be able to attend a luncheon today.”

“A luncheon?” She tried to keep the surprise out of her tone, but the banquet had only been a few days prior.

Byleistr straightened. “He said it was at your discretion, of course. He knows you’re busy.”

She _was_ busy, ensuring that everything was settled before she left, but her heart ached a little at the thought of leaving.

“I’m very happy to come,” she replied, “but I wanted to finish these this morning, and I’ll need time to wash.”

“It’s afternoon, silly,” Helblindi told her, “and you don’t _have_ to wash.” She shifted her chair away just in time to keep him from reaching for the nearest chart, just as she’d known he would. “Or just do the papers faster.”

She squeezed him. “Oh, dear heart, you know I can’t do that. Why can’t I just do the papers faster?”

Helblindi gave a long, dramatic sigh. “Haste makes mistakes.”

“That’s right!” It was something she had told him many times before when he’d wanted her to play with him right away, but the words sounded _far_ more adorable in his lisp. She couldn’t help a smile. “I _really_ think I ought to wash, but perhaps if someone helped me, I’d have time to do both!”

“I’ll help,” offered Byleistr, just as she had hoped he would. He came further into the room.  “Helblindi, please go tell Father that Angrboda’s accepted.”

“No, _I’ll_ help,” the younger boy said, scrambling down from Angrboda’s lap and reaching for a the closest pile of parchment. “You go tell Father.”

“Oh, for Hel’s sake,” Blodgada groused. “ _I’ll_ go tell him. You two sort it out.” She gave Angrboda half a wave and slipped out the door, muttering what sounded like something about her own mother. Helblindi climbed back into Angrboda’s lap, and together they carefully sorted styluses and ink bottles. Byleistr organized charts, rolling them expertly and telling her all about the patterns he’d seen in the clouds that morning.

Both tasks went quickly, and the princes walked with her through the hallways of the palace. When she turned toward the banquet hall, however, they led her instead to a part of the palace she hadn't seen before. They approached a smaller, elegantly-carven door, and Helblindi knocked as he pushed it open.

“Father,” he said, “may I present Angrboda of the Well.”

She smiled at the nickname and entered at Byleistr's gesture. The prince inclined his head to her and backed out of the room, subtly grabbing Helblindi by the scruff of the neck and encouraging him to leave, as well. The door closed with a whisper of stone, and Angrboda turned to greet the other guests.

To her surprise, there was only a small table in the solarium. It was set for two and stood in a puddle of rare, cool sunlight. Laufey stood beside it. “Angrboda,” he said, bowing slightly. “I’m so glad you came; it’s wonderful to see you.”

***

  _Angrboda stands at the window, watching the heavy snow fall. There is only a little wind, but the faint, frigid breeze feels wonderful on her face. The storm will go on for hours, she can tell, and by this time tomorrow the roads will likely be impassable._

_As though it will matter, she thinks. It will be some time before she goes anywhere at all._

_“Come away from the window,” Blodgada says from behind her, voice a mix of affection and exasperation. “You can’t afford to be seen.”_

_“There’s no one out there to see, Blodgada,” she replies, but she turns away and joins the other woman at the table regardless. Her lips twitch into a petulant pout that Blodgada won’t believe for a moment, and Blodgada rolls her eyes with a smirk before bending again to the troop manifest in front of her. “May I at least leave the window open? It’s a little warm in here, don’t you think?”_

_“You may leave it open, provided you sit_ still _for a moment. You’re worse than Helblindi today.”_

_“Only a moment, then, and don’t forget that you’re the one who said it.”_

_“My,” Blodgada grins as she makes notes. “Aegir was right; you_ are _in a mood.”_

_“Sorry.”_

_“Never said it was a bad mood,” comes the easy reply, and Angrboda smiles as she looks at the other’s bent head. Blodgada’s bright hair catches the weak afternoon light, gleaming as stubbornly as the girl herself._

Girl _. Angrboda shakes her head inwardly as she waits what she deems ‘a moment’ and then stands, beginning a slow circuit around the room. Blodgada passed her in height years ago. Angrboda had known that she’d joined the warriors who served the king, but when she’d arrived that morning with a message from Laufey and a hug from herself, Angrboda had been surprised at how tall and strong she’d become. The room fills with companionable silence as Blodgada works on the troop lists for her father, who currently acts as the head of Angrboda’s guard._

 _“I have few stories of Farbauti,” Blodgada says suddenly, her attention still on her parchment. “My first clear memory of her is one of my favorites, though. It was the winter that the snows fell before the harvest even began. Do you remember? She told us that the gleaners had to wade through snow up to their knees just to harvest the_ heggr _.”_

_“I remember.”_

_“There wasn’t much to be done, what with drifts higher than the outer walls of the palace. Farbauti was restless, so she took it upon herself to teach Byleistr and me our lessons.” A faint smile touches her face. “The memory is so sharp. He and I practically sitting inside the giant fireplace in the nursery, fire stoked and cloaks up to our necks. We worked out sums and recited history to her while she paced at the other end of the room like a caged_  kissa.”

_Angrboda blinks. “She made you sit in the fireplace?”_

_“No. We did that ourselves, since it was so blasted cold in there. She had the windows wide open.” She makes another notation in deep purple ink. “Helblindi was born not long after.”_

_Angrboda freezes; there is no sound except the gentle scratch of stylus on paper._

_“Does Laufey know?” Blodgada asks, and she is kind enough to keep her eyes on her work while Angrboda composes herself._

_“No,” she answers at last, glancing toward the closed door as she sinks into the chair across from the other woman. “I only found out myself a little while ago.” Her fingers absently brush against her tunic where Laufey’s most recent letter rests against her heart. As always, it is addressed to_ Angrboda of the Well. _“I don’t want to tell him. Not yet. He won’t be angry; that’s not the problem. It’s just… he has a war to see to. I can’t have him distracted or worried about me.” She shakes her head. “We can’t tell him.”_

_Blodgada does look up then, and while there is joy in her eyes, there is also concern. She puts her hand over Angrboda’s, squeezing it reassuringly. “We won’t,” she agrees, “but can we at least tell my father? He needs to know. The others don’t matter so much, but Aegir is your personal guard. You can’t keep a secret like this from him.”_

_Angrboda lets out a sigh. It’s a relief to finally share the burden; the fact that the snow is still falling, that she hasn’t set foot out of the house in over a month has added to her unrest. A weight lifts from her shoulders. “Yes,” she agrees. “We can tell him.”_

_Relief blooms in Blodgada’s face, as well, and she rolls up her parchment brusquely. “Well, then,” she says, “that just leaves one question.”_

_“Which is?”_

_“May I hug you?” Blodgada asks, lips quirked. “Or will you get too hot?”_

_***_

_She has no clear idea how long a war should last. This one seems to be dragging on, but she knows it only seems interminably long because of the child she carries. Angrboda rests, the fire out and the window propped open. One hand rubs her belly soothingly; the baby has been active today, kicking and rolling, and although her heart appreciates its spirit, her back is much less convinced._

_The other guards know now; her burgeoning stomach was becoming harder and harder to hide, and the absolute joy she felt the day she had finally been able to loosen her tunic and_ breathe _had been a long time coming. They have all sworn to protect her and the unborn baby with their lives, and the very idea is still a little strange to her. Protecting_ her _, of all people. Angrboda. Once Angrboda, provincial dowser, now Angrboda, Consort to the King of Jotunheim. Soon it will be Angrboda, mother to Laufey’s child._

_Sound begins to intrude into the quiet of the room; a strange clattering, as though someone is banging pots and pans. She begins to hear shouting, and the hand on her stomach slows as she listens, hoping that she is wrong about what she fears she is hearing._

_Then comes an unmistakable scream. She jolts up from her pillows at the same time Aegir slams the door open, further startling her. He crosses the room in three long strides and bangs the shutters closed, shouting over his shoulder to those in the other room to find out what’s happening. He gives Angrboda what must be a reassuring smile, but she cannot return it. Fear prickles along her bare arms, and she curls them protectively around her stomach as she sits on the edge of the bed._

_The soldiers return after only a few moments. Their conversation with Aegir is hushed and rapid, but Angrboda knows that something is wrong. The sick feeling within her grows as she quietly approaches Aegir; he pauses when he sees her._

_“It’s all right,” she tells him. “I’m no child.”_

_He nods, still clearly unwilling to alarm her. “It seems the Asgardians have not acted as we anticipated, my lady. They’ve entered the city, and though our warriors are holding, they’ve been pushed back too close to our position.”_

_His words are punctuated by another cry from outside, and regardless of her brave words, terror lodges firmly in her bones. Aegir takes her arm, his hands sure and strong._

_“We need to go, my lady. It’s not safe here.”_

_Her knees weaken, but she squares her shoulders and nods. He her leads into the corridor of the house in which they’ve been hiding; then through the carefully concealed back door. Aegir supports her with every step, telling her over and over that she will be all right. The Asgardians do not know she is here. Every one of her guards has sworn to protect her to the death. She can barely hear him over the rushing in her ears and the panic thrumming in her veins. Her instincts scream at her to protect her child, and her heart sinks when she realizes that she doesn’t know how._

_An explosion on the next street over sends stone and dust into the air; a huge chunk of what used to be the bell tower comes crashing down. Aegir pulls Angrboda out of the way just in time, and adrenaline surges through her unchecked._

_She cannot breathe. She cannot breathe and she cannot think. The world shrinks to her stomach and to the child inside. Her child._ Laufey’s _child. Terror is squeezing lungs, crushing pain blossoming from its claws. Angrboda falls to her knees, gasping for air, and there is a sudden clarity when she sees that it is not crushing her, it’s crushing her baby and she clenches her eyes shut against another wave of agony takes her._

_“No,” she whispers. “Please no. Gods below, little one, it’s too soon.”_

Too soon, too soon _, she knows, but she knows just as clearly that there is nothing she can do to stop it._

 _Time passes, she thinks, there in the shadow of broken stone. Aegir sends a few of the soldiers for a healer. They do not return_ they do not return _and then it is too late. She hears more screaming and cannot tell if it is her own. She knows only pain and fear and a horrible, horrible pressure followed by the most excruciating agony she has ever known. Aegir is shouting frantically, but she does not have the breath to ask what is happening._

_Then someone places a warm little weight on her chest, and everything else stops._

_The baby is perfect. It’s a boy, and he is the most beautiful thing she could ever imagine. She caresses his cheeks and forehead, his ridges a tiny reflection of Laufey’s and her own. He is small, far too small, but he is breathing and he is safe and he is perfect. She cradles him close, tears of joy dropping onto the faint dusting of black hair on his head._

_Another sharp noise, and the baby flinches. Angrboda blinks woozily up at Aegir and sees that he is speaking roughly to another of his men. Focus comes slowly, but she is finally able to understand the words._

_“We can’t move her. There’s too much risk.”_

_“We have no choice,” Aegir replies. “She’s lost far too much blood. By the time help arrives, it will be too late.” He looks down, meeting Angrboda’s eyes, and he crouches next to her. “My lady,” he says, “the birth has injured you. The aid you need is beyond our ability; we must bring you to someone who can help.”_

_“The boy...” she begins, but her thoughts are muddy, and she cannot finish the words._

_“He is well,” Aegir tells her firmly. “You will be as well, but only if we go now.”_

_Her guards try to be gentle as they wrap her and her son in blankets and then lift them both onto a makeshift litter. She holds onto her baby as tightly as she can, doing her best to protect him from the jostling movements. The soldiers’ work is thorough, honed from long practice, and the baby’s tiny body is bound tightly to her own. Speed is vital, however, and pain flares in response to the motion of the litter. Angrboda does not cry out; she can hear battle nearby, and she remains silent so as not to draw attention. She will not endanger her son or those that protect him._

_Silent or not, battle inevitably finds them. The litter bearers move rapidly; Aegir orders others of her guard to cover their escape._

_Angrboda tries to protest, but each of her protectors rests a fist on their heart. “It is my honor to die for the Lady Angrboda and for the child of Laufey,” each tells her before sprinting off to buy a few more moments, blades of ice already forming on their arms. It’s as if they have rehearsed it, and tears freeze on Angrboda’s cheeks as she is carried on._

_None return, and the noise of fighting grows closer with each passing moment. Aegir sends more to keep the Asgardians at bay, his jaw tight. They, too, affirm their loyalty before joining the fray. Finally, it is only Aegir and one other; they carry the stretcher as rapidly and quietly as they can, but after a moment, the guard captain jerks his chin. They duck to the side of the road. The last soldier lowers her side of the litter, avows her loyalty, and bolts back the way they came. Blodgada’s father drags the travois further into the shadowed rubble - a collapsed house, she thinks. His breath comes harshly as he kneels at her side. “My lady,” he rasps, “they are too close. We cannot outrun them, you and I; I will draw them off and return as quick as I can.” He rests his hand on the baby’s head, smoothing his thumb along one of his forehead ridges with a faint smile, then clears his throat. “It has been my honor to serve you, Lady Angrboda. To serve both of you.” She feels the air around her chilling still further as he calls a blade, and then he is gone._

_She hears the battle clearly from her hiding place in the rubble. Eventually the sounds fade, and she waits for Aegir to reappear, eyes closing in exhaustion. When she opens them again, she knows that time has passed. The snow is far deeper than it was, but Aegir has not returned. Darkness overwhelms her; she ensures that her son is breathing, that all is well with him before she loses consciousness again. More snow has fallen when she wakes once more, and through the fog of pain, she realizes that Aegir is not coming back. It is getting harder and harder to think, but she knows that if she remains here, she will die, and her son, left alone, will soon follow._

_Shaking with pain and exhaustion, Angrboda drags herself off the litter. She can see the blood (so much blood) on the blankets and knows that it is far too much. There is no way she will survive this, but she crawls on regardless, her baby clutched to her chest. She will find a way to save her son._

_She reaches the road; there are bodies scattered along its width, both Aesir and Jotun. One of them is Aegir, and Angrboda lets out a harsh sob. She makes her slow, agonizing way to him, not knowing what else to do. Her hand shakes as she closes his eyes, then lifts her own in despair._

_And then she sees it. A building at the edge of the road, previously hidden by walls and rubble. Even in death, Aegir has given her a way to save her baby._

_It takes her a long time to reach the temple; she pulls herself forward inch by inch, soothing her fretful child with whispered songs as she goes. The stairs up to the altar are even more difficult, and Angrboda silently lifts her voice to the smoke-filled skies above._

Farbauti. Aegir. Grandmother. All those who watch over us. Hear me in my desperate need. _One step, then another._ This is the king’s son. _My_ son. I have carried him and borne him as far as I can, but I can do no more. _She has reached the top of the stairs. The altar looms high above her, but she knows what she must do._ Let him live. _She cradles her son for just a moment longer, kissing his downy head. “_ Please, _” she whispers. She has no breath for more._

_With all the strength she has left, Angrboda pulls herself to her knees and gently places her son on the altar. The effort is too much for her damaged body, and black waves crowd her vision._

Please.

_She barely feels herself tumbling back down the stairs, her soul still reaching out._

Let him live, _she begs those who have gone before, and then she is among them._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback appreciated. <3 love you all!

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback appreciated. Beta read by the fantastic Xogs, and please welcome my delightful co-author, who is among the Best Of All The Humans. (I hope you love her as much as I do!) Happy reading! <3


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